


Overcome and Laid Bare

by megazorzz



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Domestic Fluff, Domestic Violence, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Eventual Smut, Family Member Death, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, George Eliot - Freeform, Good Original Percival Graves, Gravebone, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Multiple Perspectives, Norwegian Mythology & Folklore, Oral Sex, Panic Attacks, Post-Death in the Family, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Norse Religion & Lore, Rimming, Slow Burn, These two need every caress and hug ever, Triggers, for both, mentioned Newt/Tina
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-13
Updated: 2018-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/megazorzz/pseuds/megazorzz
Summary: A post-film fix-it that has its cake and eats it too. I.E., Percival had established relations with Credence pre-film, during, and post.After a miraculous discovery, Percival, Newt and Tina propose a way for Percival to atone for his unwilling hand in Grindelwald's mass deception. He is to teach the boy, show him the ways of magic and the wizarding world at large. The lesson plan goes swiftly off-track once Percival and Credence pick up where they left off.From the writer of overly-long fic comes a tale of domestic fluff, magical endeavors and Credence getting what he always wanted—lots of touching. Everywhere.**For smutty chapters, a separate note will be included regarding specific content. Heed.





	1. The Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts

 

Credence Barebone wasn't sure whether he were dead or merely a memory. He floated high above Manhattan, as if he were but a bit of smog. He drifted between twinkling lights and the towering behemoths, seeing, but not seen. His body was dispersed yet small and without consequence.

If Credence still possessed hands, he would have turned them over to examine the healed lashes over his palms, the breath of respite he had from the torrent of his adoptive mother. It was his only memento of that stolid wizard.

But he had nothing, grasped nothing, was nothing, yet desired everything. And so in this manner he lingered, a wisp of something once called great, once promised belonging. He supposed he would continue to drift, waiting for his bitter conclusion.

 

* * * * *

 

MACUSA had taken extra precautions in the weeks following the Obscurial Incident. Tina, for her part, did not object to them. After Grindelwald had managed to infiltrate their headquarters so deftly, nothing was spared a second and third inspection. It was only natural.

Wands were checked twice fold and every replacement recorded in quadruplicate; one copy was delivered to the president herself. The already pervasive wand permits were becoming more and more complicated to file. Queenie had quite a bit more to do these days, though she didn't complain.

The issuing of polyjuice potion was tightened, with only the most delicate operations gaining approval. The practice of occlumency was now required for new recruits among the ranks of the aurors. Unauthorized portkeys and conjured tunnels were strictly forbidden on the premises. Finally, the use of personal pocket dimensions was indefinitely forbidden, on pain of termination and prosecution.

The last measure was put into place after the mysterious discovery in former director Percival Graves’ office. After having closed off his quarters for further investigation, aurors uncovered a powerful and unnerving artifact.

It was old magic, chilling to the bone. The stone was opaque, deep deep green. The center-most rune was the largest, crisp and angular. Its surface was blisteringly hot. It rested on a bed of constantly shifting glass beads in a blood red wooden container deep in Graves’ personal safe. It was transferred to quarantine shortly after.

When asked after the stone, Grindelwald offered only a taunting chuckle and terse words. “Now, now. That is for grown-up witches and wizards only.”

Tina was arrived her desk later than she had intended to that morning. She read that day’s report over coffee.

Perhaps if they had been this careful earlier, Credence would be…

She shook her head and wiped her eyes. She dare not think of him. That poor young man, whose time on earth was so wretched and forlorn and punctuated harshly, frequently came to mind of late. A tissue floated from her satchel and she blew her nose.

“You’re thinking of him again. That young man, Credence,” Queenie observed from the doorway.

“I know,” Tina said, “It’s been, what, two months now?”

“Two months, one week, four days, and...sorry.”

Tina sniffed again and pulled herself to her desk. The papers, forms, and files shifted and re-arranged themselves by date and department. She took a deep breath and dipped her quill in her dark blue ink.

Queenie walked up to her desk, the ruffled fringe of her peach linen dress floating in her wake.

“I was told to deliver this to you personally,” she said delicately. She handed Tina plain white envelope, sealed with the dark green wax of the Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts. She had never received official communiques from them before.

“What on earth do they need from me?”

“There’s been a lot of talk.” Tina threw her sister a suspicious glance. “Sorry, a lot of thoughts floating around about Director Graves lately. They think they found something in his office. Something they can't figure out.”

She slit the envelope open. Rapidly her eyes scanned the pages. It was a summons to their department on official business regarding the Obscurial Incident. No other details were offered.

“Thanks, sis.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Quickly Tina filed the letter, making sure to charm the case against intruders. She donned her leather trench coat.

“But you know,” Tina crossed her arms, “you really ought to play down the legilimency at work. It could get you into serious trouble, especially now.”

“I know, I know. I’ve been trying! Worry and stress makes everything leak everywhere, it’s like being caught in the rain without a wand. Oh! But, before I forget….”

Queenie reached into her silk purse and withdrew a much smaller, weathered envelope as well. A familiar shaky scrawl in blue caught Tina’s eye.

“This came for you as well. At our apartment. It came all the way from Brazil.” Queenie grinned, offering it with both hands.

Tina flushed and trot over to her desk, stowing it in the top drawer.

 

* * * * *

 

Three different passwords were required for entry, and a charm that prevented her from speaking specifics about the secrets held therein. The charm was likely new protocol as well. So much to learn.

She was to be guided by a particularly old house elf named Normann, whose very bones seemed to creak as they wandered down the corridors of dark mahogany. The witches and wizards were dressed in dark green twill overcoats, double-breasted, with various silken runes embroidered at the hems and cuffs in soft glowing patterns. Normann, however, lacked the robes or any such protection.

“Got a special propensity for negation and wards, ma’am,” he explained. “Enough to let me act as a guide for outsiders. Never been in the research labs proper, though. Too risky.”

A dour witch with long braids greeted her near an elaborately carved doorframe, which stood empty in the middle of the hall. “Auror Goldstein?”

She withdrew her papers and the witch inspected them closely. “Head Researcher Annette Graham, Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts.”

With a flick of her wand, a green overcoat appeared before her and Tina donned it swiftly. Another flick and the door rotated, revealing a medium-sized research hall. “Follow me.”

Graham led her to a small group of researchers and President Picquery, who stood regally in her navy robes and headscarf. In the center sat a blood red container.

“Auror Goldstein, it is good to see you.”

“Madam President,” Tina said, shaking her hand. “How can I be of assistance?”

“You read the missive?” Tina nodded.

“One week and five days ago, during our investigation of the office of Director Graves, we unlocked a magically obscured chest containing the object you see before you.”

Tina absent-mindedly stepped forward. Like a twig adrift in a low, yet forceful current, she found the container drawing her in.

“What on Earth is it?”

Graham stepped forward, waving her wand. The object rotated and tilted toward Tina. The lid slid off, revealing the stone, steaming and hot. She shielded her eyes against its rays, as if in a furnace.

“Our researchers have determined that this object contains a combination of known and unknown schools of magic. We have identified legilimency, transfiguration, and particularly elaborate charms at work, but thus far we are unable to determine the exact function of this artifact. Or how to activate it.”

The president stepped forward. “MACUSA had no hand in the transport or housing of the artifact. It is completely off record. Grindelwald has made it clear that its smuggling was his doing, in his own way.”

“What do you need me to do? Research and unknown magic aren't my forte,” Tina said.

“Newt Scamander has not been responsive to our inquiries.”

Of course, Tina thought. It was Newt, after all, who unmasked Grindelwald in his moment of weakness and debilitation. Hexing and dueling weren’t his strong suits, but transfiguration was a knack he had. He also adventured into places untouched by human and wizardkind in search of his quarry. It might have been possible, she supposed, for him to stumble upon ancient forms of magic in the ruins the tides of history and bloodshed had long since washed away.

“We know that you have been maintaining a consistent line of communication with him since he returned to London.”

Tina swallowed. “You do?”

“Do not worry. We never pry into the letters unless we feel its absolutely necessary,” the President said. Tina could have sworn she spotted a slight smile on the president’s lips. “Your sentiments are secret.”

“Thank you,” she sighed in relief.

“We need you to reach out to him, pull him out of whatever jungle or cavern he’s currently investigating and summon him here as soon as possible.”

The president turned toward the artifact, worry burdening her brow. “The sooner we uncover the purpose of this artifact, the sooner we can mend the tears in MACUSA’s security...and her reputation.”

Tina stepped forward, fixated on the deepness of the stone. She felt as if it were looking back.

 

* * * * *

 

She ran up the wooden ramp to meet Newt, wrapping him in a tight embrace, halting the line of passengers disembarking from the ship. He smelt of jungle and soil, of rain and leaves and adventure. His talk of his forays into the South American climes was endless and fascinating. Tina listened to every word, every smile small, yet earnest. It was just like old times—keeping in step with his odd gait, the fecund pauses in his dialect, and the timid certainty of his words.

As they approached the tall stone columns of MACUSA, however, she was forced to remind her self of the meaning of Newt’s visit. It was not for leisure, but for a much more grave purpose. It was nothing like his last visit—getting through the security checkpoint alone took a half hour, what with the lunch rush and afternoon staff both colliding.

It took some convincing and a lot of promising to get Newt to relinquish his beloved briefcase.

“A-and you are to inform me immediately if there is any fuss, you understand? They get uneasy when I’m not there to check in on them,” Newt said to the aurors on duty. “And no snooping, for both your sakes.”

“They will be okay,” Tina said. “I hope.”

Several staircases and two checkpoints later, they reached the research hall. Donning the green overcoats, they traversed the empty doorway, landing in the concealed research hall where their entourage awaited them. Newt shook hands with the president, whose greeting was brief, yet cordial. The container swung round and opened once more, revealing the stone.

Newt examined it for some time. The heels of his shoes scraped across the floor. Tina stepped forward, grabbing him by the shoulder. “Thanks, love. Don’t know what got into me.”

Scratching his head, he sat on the floor and rifled through his various leather-bound journals and maps.

“I recall seeing runes such as these under the permafrost,” he said, as if she knew which patch of frost he referred to. It was hard for him to get out of his own head, so she patiently prodded him.

“Where was this?” Tina asked.

“Norway. I was helping to find another source of salmon for the königbears.” He spread his fingers and held them behind his scalp. “They have these massive antlers that stretch meters high, capable of—”

“The runes, Newt, what about the runes?” Tina interjected.

“Right. Sorry,” he said with a slight nod. His fingers worked rapidly through his notebook. The pages never seemed to end as he dug through months of research. It was a testament to his powers as a transfigurer and charmer, Tina thought.

Moments later he stopped. Tina looked over his shoulder and gazed upon a series of sketches. More runes in various sizes and shapes. They appeared to be other wordly, a language totally lost to time and place.

“Now these were carved onto a series of stone tablets near the königbears’ hunting grounds. Another witch I encountered along the way said they had always been there. The local folklore told stories of wizarding clansmen of old disappearing into the wintry mists, and emerging years, sometimes decades later exactly as they had left. Untouched by the seasons and passing of time.”

Graham stepped in. “We have had reports of wizarding people being kept in pocket dimensions or stuck between malfunctioning portkeys. However they still age and sometimes have been known to perish in the interim. No way to preserve a life force indefinitely.

Newt, shrugged, seeming to ignore her portending and forging onwards in his notes. He produced another smaller journal. “Now, if I recall correctly...”

Tina looked toward the stone. In the days since she contacted Newt for this task, she had been given clearance to examine it more closely, in order to provide him with more details before his arrival.

Looking back on it, however, she had not felt truly alone with it. No, it seemed to have a life all its own, not dissimilar then the presence of a ghost, but much less intelligible. If Grindelwald had orchestrated auror Graves’ disappearance with this stone, then maybe…

“Why, I don’t believe it,” Newt exclaimed.

“What, what’s going on?” Tina asked. Newt held up the smaller journal and Tina looked at the open page. Crisp and geometric lines, with what appeared to be a set of winding horns at the head of it. She took the journal in hand.

“Graham, copy down those runes, and his notes,” the president ordered.

In a flash, Newt snatched the journal back.

“N-now wait just a minute. These notes are a result of weekss of field research— _my_ research. For the sake of academic integrity, I cannot allow—”

“Newt,” Tina said. She placed a soft hand on his. “If there is any chance that these notes can help MACUSA, we have to record them.” She looked toward Graham and the President. “We promise we will credit you if we publish any passages from them, understand?”

Newt met her eyes. He nodded slowly. “J-just don’t copy down the zoological content. Didn’t get chased by a heard of territorial, horned königbears just to have my name erased from academe.”

 

* * * * *

 

Days passed with little headway. Apart from his initial revelation, no progress had been made on unlocking the artifact—if it were even something to be unlocked. Who knew? Perhaps it was an ingredient, or a catalyst. Maybe it was an old way to channel ambient magical energies, or, perhaps, its power had faded away altogether.

Still President Picquery kept him close, in the event they would need him. He had written a letter to a colleague in Norway, near the migration route of the königbears. Being an instructor at Durmstrang, Newt's call for help was met with harsh skepticism.

"Don't throw out the baby with the bathwater," he had said to Tina and she relented. Durmstrang's propensity for dark practices, she concluded, could be of some help to his end, if little else. Their proximity to the site of Newt's runes could be of assistance as well.

A week later they received word, carried on the wings of a buzzard. It had caused quite a stir in the Owlery. President Picquery, ever cautious, had the missive thoroughly tested for prying spy-bugs and acrid poisons. It was clean, save for the reputation of their source institution.

Newt and Tina read it together.

"No, that isn’t possible right now," she said, biting into the warm strawberry tart Queenie had delivered. She read the letter again. "All of our registered legilimens are out in the field."

"Why? What for?" asked Newt.

"You're not going to like it." She circled around the desk.

"I will be the one to decide that."

She sighed and snapped her fingers. A file slipped out of a yellow file and into her hand.

"The interim director of Magical Security and Law Enforcement ordered a squad of undercover aurors into Manhattan and the surrounding boroughs. They are out there to double-check your handiwork, to see if any no-majs have relapsed from the mass obliviation."

Newt set down his tart, rattling the plate. "I should have figured as much. The pervasive distrust of magical beasts and their natural abilities never fails to astound me.”

“I don’t like it anymore than you.” She rested a light hand on his shoulder. “If it’s any consolation, Newt, there haven’t been any reports of relapses. No one remembers the event. A blurred dream or two, yes, but no-majs never fail to fully discount them.”

Newt sighed. “That is some relief, but what are we to do about the stone? Nearly two weeks and we aren’t any closer to unlocking its function.”

“And Grindelwald has moved beyond empty taunts and threats. Now he refuses to speak altogether.”

“He is a wicked occlumens as well.” The familiar click of Queenie’s heels approached them. The heavenly, buttery scent of Danishes floated along with her. “But, don’t get so down, you two. He is still in custody, at least.”

Tina felt it coming. Newt slowly swung around in Tina’s chair, eyes lighting up.

“Newt.”

“Tina, listen...”

“You’ve been here two weeks, Newt, every aspect of security has increased twice fold, more than that! There is no way they will allow an unregistered legilimens touch that artifact. Even if they did it’s far—”

“What’s more dangerous, sis? Letting me try my hand with that, whatever it is in that red box or letting its mysteries stick around. Who knows what Grindelwald has planned for it?”

“What are you saying, Queenie?” asked Newt. Tina kicked the leg of Newt’s chair.

“Let me help. As long as Grindelwald and that stone are both here, none of us are safe.”

“Queenie...”

She was already unloading the trays onto her desk. “You two took a great risk, on behalf of all of us, going after Cre—the obscurus.” She stirred the tea.

“Please. Let me return the favor.”

  


* * * * *

 

A hush fell over the room. Floating lanterns dimmed, save for the duo illuminating the box. President Picquery shot a stern glance over to Tina, but she kept her eyes on Queenie, who was fully enveloped in her green overcoat, protective symbols glowing in the low light. Newt was quiet. Graham and three other witches were in attendance, wands at the ready. An urn filled with a viscous, undulating liquid Tina did not recognize rested at their feet. Its depth reminded her of the deeps of the death potion. She shuddered. Newt placed a shaking hand on her shoulder.

Tina sat upon a lone wooden arm chair before the stone, staring deeply into its vastness. She did not blink. The two were like that for some time, Queenie filtering through whatever the stone emitted and the stone resisting, if her winces told Tina anything.

The glass beads began to shift rapidly beneath the stone, stirring like a great whirlpool beneath it. The stone itself was still, yet powerful waves of heat rushed past them. Tina withdrew a bandana and began dabbing at her forehead.

“It’s strange,” Tina murmured. “It’s almost like sifting through an actual wizard’s mind.”

“What is it saying?” President Picquery demanded. “Does it have a name? Tell us.”

Queenie’s hands curled over the arm rests. Her knuckled grew white. “I only hear...the roar of battle, great shouts...blood curdled cries.” A tear rolled slowly down her cheek. Her voice trembled.

Newt looked over to Tina. She had her wand in a death grip, mouth agape. The president was watching the stone, waiting for something to happen. Tina blinked away a few tears. Graham and her assistants shifted anxiously.

“Wait,” Tina leaned forward in her chair, “wait it all stopped. The swords and shields, they all stopped.” She squinted. “I hear a voice. Words, but they’re so far away.”

“Who is it, Queenie?” Tina asked. It could have been a trap, an elaborate red herring set up by Grindelwald. Queenie could be walking right into it. Her heart raced as Tina stood and approached the wooden box. She walked with a dream like lilt to her step. Her head began to sag to the side.

Tina began to rush forward. Graham’s arm shot out and restrained her. Newt stepped to her side.

“It’s too dangerous to stop your sister now, Tina. You don’t wake the dragon, or rush a molting. Wherever she’s going, we o-ought to wait until she gets there first. We can’t have her trapped between here and there.”

They all watched as Queenie slowly lowered herself to the floor.

“Queenie? Queenie?” Tina cried. She wrenched herself from Graham’s grip and rushed over to her sister’s side. Her head rested on the cold floor, but she was breathing. The stone jolted.

Queenie’s eyes flew open. She struggled to push herself on her hands and knees. She swung around. Everywhere around her was pitch black. The darkness was almost palpable against her skin. Looking below her, she could only see more of the same. It took a great deal of effort to stand. Great weight pushed in on her from all sides.

She held out her hands. She could clearly make out herself and her form. Clenching her hands in front of her, she took a deep breath and shut her eyes. She cast out a net with her maguc. A sudden roar screamed back at her. Her hands snapped up to cover her ears. The metallic clang of swords and shields, the rumbles of battle magic, and the stomping of hooves crashed through her, accompanying by wavering, pained cries in languages she could not render intelligible.

She counted to ten, sorting through the bellows of violence and battle, then she heard the chiming of a mind, like a small silver bell over the blackened horizon. She spun in place, trying to pinpoint its source. It rung louder. She walked through the black miasma, straining with effort.

As she pushed through the dark, a tall shape began to emerge. She doubled her efforts and soon she made out a tall door with a circular insignia. She gasped. Carved on the surface were eagle’s wings spread wide in resplendent glory, the stars and stripes running down its breast. Circling around it were the words, “Magical Congress of the United States of America.”

The door belonged to Percival Graves’ office, the one dear Jacob helped her to unseal. She shoved her way through the viscous haze. The chiming mounted more and more greatly in her mind until it vibrated like great church bells in the morning mist.

At last she reached the door and she had never been more glad to see something from work in her life. She grazed the surface and surprisingly it gave way. Peaking through the crack, a room spread out before her, Graves’ office replicated perfectly. With a great thrust the door swung ajar fully.

Queenie gasped.  


 

* * * * *

 

“Newt! She’s not responding,” Tina said, voice quaking. “I don’t know what to do!”

Queenie’s breath was growing more and more shallow. Tina was seized with terror. Behind her, Graham and her assistants were readying the mysterious potion. Slowly it rose out of the urn. Picquery stood silently nearby and nodded toward Queenie’s still body.

“Wait, what is that concoction?” Newt demanded. Picquery remained silent. The potion rose into a great curtain, floating over Tina and Queenie. Even as the shadow crept over them, Tina refused to move.

“What on earth are you doing?” Tina shouted.

“If her soul has been snatched away, it would be preferable that it return to an intact body, would it not?” Picquery posed simply.

“We don’t know that yet,” Tina shot back.

Picquery raised her wand. “It is for your sister’s own good, now please move and we can attempt to unlock the stone with a more powerful legilimens at a later juncture.”

“It might be too late for her by then!” Newt interjected. “We have no idea what effects this artifact has on wizarding people.”

The president sighed. “This was a mistake, bringing in a magizoologist to—”

The stone began trembling erratically. Glass beads spilled over the container’s surface, clacking and rolling across the floor. The stone slowly floated out of the box. Tina felt the heat of it spread across her cheeks and forehead.

The shadow of the potion retreated back into the urn as Graham and her assistants rushed forward. The stone’s surface glinted in the low light as it shook back and forth in the air. Golden light streaked across its surface, tracing the carvings and runes. Tina shielded her eyes.

A great, bestial cry erupted from the stone and it shattered into a cloud of black smoke and dust, which enveloped them all. Tina and Newt coughed and gagged. Seemingly miles away they heard Graham's cry, but it was quickly swept up in the forceful storm.

As suddenly as it came, the smoke was sucked back to its epicenter. Tina could feel its pull but clutched her sister in resistance, invoking an incantation, a prayer to keep them from harm.

And then all was still. The lanterns hanging above slowly re-lit their flames. Picquery slowly pulled herself up. Tina felt Newt’s grasp around her ankle. She looked toward her sister and startled when she saw another figure lying beside her, garbed in a familiar blue overcoat and black tie.

She scrambled to her feet, readying her wand, breathing deep and labored.

“Director Graves,” she uttered. “It’s Director Graves!”

The president was silent as she cast a spell on the man. He became rigid and became cemented to the floor. “We can’t go jumping to any conclusions, Auror Goldstein. Researcher Graham, send word...”

President Picquery trailed off, looking about the room.

“Researcher Graham?” she called once more. She lit the tip of her wand and slowly traced the dark corners of the chamber, revealing nothing but disarray. Tina and Newt flipped the tables up, opened every cupboard door, but uncovered no sign of the three witches.

Percival Graves stirred, eyes opening as if from a long, restless slumber. Tina knelt down to him and slowly his eyes returned to the stone, which had again pulsed with hot, otherworldly energy.

“They’re gone! Graham and her assistants,” Newt exclaimed. “Vanished!”

“Not gone. Sealed away,” Tina said. The stone hummed in its container. It seemed sated. She had no other words for it.  


 

* * * * *

 

Through the cold haze of his near non-existence, Credence sensed a small bell chimed in the distance. Warmth crept across his form, one he thought he would never again experience. He felt himself floating toward what used to be home all the way down on Pike street. He couldn’t fathom why, perhaps it was its familiarity, the knowledge that this was where the remaining shreds of hope were last found.

From above, he saw the destruction he had wrought. Shingles still lay splayed across cobblestone. The roof was near caving in. Large shards and planks peaked out from beneath the fresh snow fall. How long has it been?

He spied the alley. The last moment he had held hope in his breast had blossomed in that very spot, then thrown in the rubble and trash. He relived the warm stroke of Mr. Graves’ hands on his cheek, the thumb playing with the temples, leaving goosebumps in their wake, which ran down the nape of his neck and burrowed to his core.

He felt a drop run down his cheek as he floated past the remains of the roof, then the top floor. He looked down and his palms and knuckles, bruised and scarred, manifested before him. He heard the click of his shoes against the stone, instead of the deafening quiet of his veiled senses. The metallic scrape of shovels against ice echoed off the brownstones. Passing streetcars rumbled in the distance, nearly drowning out the bell.

He stood, trembling. Across the street was home, pulsing with memory of his long suffering. He stumbled across the road, past the cordoned entrance and through the wooden, splintered door. The place was quiet as a tomb. In the center, some rubble had been cleared away. The body of his older sister, Mary Lou’s twin in conscience, had long since been interred. Nothing remained of his last semblance of home.

Slowly he crept up the stairs. They creaked in all of the same places, where they were still to be found. And there, at the landing, lay shards of his last memento of Percival Graves, his would-be savior: the necklace. He ran the cold chain through his fingers. The pendant was long gone. A promise unkept was all he had to his name now. He curled up on his side in the rubble and wept.

  


 

 


	2. The Ward for Magical Maladies

 

Queenie reclined in her hospital bed. She was dressed in a patient’s gown, hair limp and skin bereft of her usual vivacious flush. She had only woken recently, just as the sun began to set. Tina thanked her lucky stars.

“Where have they taken Mr. Graves?” she asked wearily.

“Nearby. In isolation,” Tina answered. Newt was in the corner still, vigorously taking notes on what had transpired.

“Why would they do that? Hasn’t he suffered enough?” she said, shifting to her side. “He hasn’t done anything wrong. He spent so many weeks in there all by his lonesome.” Her eyes narrowed. “With that dark wizard intruding on his memories.”

“We need to take every precaution we can. We have no idea if Grindelwald still holds sway over him.”

“He doesn’t. The link has been cut. I saw it myself.”

“How do you know that?”

“How do I know anything, Tina?” She yawned. “I felt it.”

Tina sighed and looked to Newt. President Picquery was in the process of acquiring approval for veritaserum. Queenie needed her rest, so she withheld the fact. Mr. Graves, if that were in fact him, would be subjected to its later tonight. It was the only way to be certain if Mr. Graves was himself and himself only. Time was of the essence.

Well after Queenie had fallen asleep once more, and Newt had returned to their apartment for further study and recording, Tina got herself ready to leave. She filed and filled her last reports, including a missing persons report for Graham and her assistants.

Out of the frying pan...

She sighed and caught her reflection in the looking glass. She was haggard and weary. The top button of her top was torn off in the torrent and her matching satin belt was missing too. None of that mattered, however. She was resolved to see this investigation through.

If nothing else, they knew that the artifact, the stone, could be reckoned with. More importantly, they discovered that its captives could be freed, if only physically for now. She was confident that more would be revealed, with or without Grindelwald’s assistance. To be free from his sole, reluctant guidance was sizable relief.

Once outside, she buttoned her coat and set out on foot home. She needed the walk.

Somewhere along the way, her path shifted. Tina had always found snowfall to be beautiful and peaceful. Winter clung to March this year. She fooled herself into thinking that it alone was the purpose of her detour. Who was she kidding?

She crossed her arms against the evening chill. Brick turned to cobblestone as she wandered and wandered down memory lane. She watched as a man with his dog passed a beggar in the gutter, willfully ignorant of the suffering near his patent shoes. The no-majs, for all of their engineering prowess and industry, still had a lot to learn about humanity. The skyscrapers could reach the moon, but if the destitute and helpless were not raised up too then what was the point, Tina pondered.

Crossing the street, she reached in her bag for the savory pastry Tina had baked for her that morning. She offered it and a hidden ten-dollar no-maj bill and hurried along her way. Aurors received a generous amount of no-maj dollars when they were undercover. Tina sometimes made up expenditures and donated the excess.

Soon the former base of the New Salem Society stood before her. The house of torment and exploitation was all ruins. Snow and frost pervaded it like infection, but the little church, even in its current ruin, was enough to chill her.

Mary Lou was an enterprising woman. Other crusaders would rise in her wake if MACUSA was not careful.

As she approached, something caught her eye. Through the jagged opening she spotted movement. Another trespasser. She huffed and marched toward the entrance. The footsteps within confirmed her suspicions. The first time she found a trespasser she let herself hope beyond hope that it would be Credence she met. She pushed through the door. She supposed that hope lived sill. Why else would she make pilgrimage to this spot?

Tina readied her wand, following the sodden footsteps past the rubble and up the remains of the staircase. At the top step, she paused. Deeper in the ruins, she heard whimpering and sobbing. She had another five dollar bill on her yet. That would be more than enough to persuade this poor soul to leave this place be. She could walk them to a shelter and conjure a spot for the night.

The whimpering grew stronger as she approached the back bedrooms. The left hand chamber was its source. Slowly she pushed through the door. She nearly dropped her handbag. The figure before her had long, winding limbs and pallid skin, topped with a mess of black tangles. In the low light, the white scars emerged from a familiar, ill-fitting suit, which was in tatters.

His dark eyes darted over. They widened. He scrambled to his feet. They held their breath.

“Credence? Is that you?” Tina whispered. She flicked her wand and light sprang from its tip.

A bare, bony shoulder jutted out from a tear in the shoulder of his jacket. Shielding his bloodshot eyes against the light, Credence took a step forward.

“Y-you’re...that witch, the one who protected me from her,” he managed. “You’ve come back...”

Tina wiped her eyes. “Yes, Credence, I’m here. You have nothing more to worry about?”

Credence stepped forward cautiously. He lost his footing, collapsing to the floor in front of her. She knelt to help him up. His skin was ice cold. She looked at his palms. Thin white scars marred the surface, darting left and right in cruel crosses. This was indeed him. She couldn’t be dreaming.

“We need to get you inside. You’ll catch your death of cold if you stay here.”

“I-I don’t have anywhere else to go,” Credence blurted out, voice wavering. “Everyone’s gone. Even,” he hiccuped, “even him...I’m all alone.”

As they stood, the supporting beam gave way. Low groans in the wood encircled them. The wood began to splinter rapidly. The building groaned and lurched sickeningly.

“Hold your breath, Credence!” she commanded sharply.

Just as the floor began to collapse, a quick snap stung Credence’s eardrums. The world shifted and fell from beneath them, yet pressed him on all sides. Before he knew it he was thrown into the snow-filled gutter. He panicked, feeling around for the kind witch. Across the street, the edifice of the building gave way, collapsing in cascades.

Within moments, lights began blinking on around them from neighboring buildings. No-majs, roused from their dinners and wood fire stoves rushed to investigate the wreckage at their windowsills.

“Credence, just follow my lead. Act normal.”

Another flick of the wand and their footprints faded into the snow cover, erasing all trace that they had been near the building. She turned forward and began walking forward, avoiding the gaze of frightened no-majs as they watched the structure settle in its decay. Several blocks later, they switched routes. She picked the fastest one home, wrapping her shawl about the young man’s shoulders.

Credence was shivering by the time they arrived on her doorstep. A hole in his sole allowed the slush and snow to fill his shoe. He sneezed.

“You have to be very quiet, Credence.” He stared back at her. He was trying to process all that had just happened—his sudden reappearance and the return of the kind witch.

She unlocked the door and they crept upstairs. Luckily her landlord was chatting with her downstairs neighbor—quite loudly. After unlocking her door, she remembered that Newt would be still be awake. Just then, the door swung open.

“Tina, there you are, I—” His jaw snapped shut and his eyes widened. He leaned over their shoulders and peaked down the hallway. “Inside, the both of you.”

Newt grasped Credence by both shoulders. “You’re that wizard. At the train station—I—I...”

“Newt Scamander. And no need to fret,” Newt said. “You’re cold, wet, and probably quite famished.”

“I’m already on it,” Tina said. She scoured the ice box for every leftover morsel she could muster. She waved a wand and plates and silverware danced from their cupboards and drawers and onto their small dining table.

Credence watched in wonderment as the cloth napkins folded themselves into beautiful, enchanting shapes. Tina lit the stove and placed a large teapot to begin boiling. He watched Tina flick her wand to and fro, and Newt fumbling through his luggage for another sweater.

Newt sat him on the couch and opened his beat-up leather suitcase. He reached deep inside, his whole arm disappearing into the opening, and pulled out what looked like a stethoscope. Newt placed them on his head and pressed the cold brass into Newt’s chest.

“Can’t that wait, Newt?” Tina called from the kitchen. “Let him rest and eat first!”

“We haven’t any time to waste.”

Tina leaned in through the doors. “What? Why?”

Newt shut his eyes and listened. Something jerked inside of Credence and his heart began to race.

“What are you doing?” Credence asked, suddenly fearful of the powerful shudder in his bones. “A-am I sick? Please tell me.”

“No, no, Newt,” Tina murmured as she approached them. “You can’t be doing what I think you are.”

“I am merely assessing the status of the obscurus.” Newt closed his eyes and listened deeply. Tina clutched her hands together in front of her waiting for word. Credence couldn’t understand what they were talking about. Was he sick? Was he in danger?

Slowly Newt drew himself back and stowed the mysterious device. He slowly wrapped another blanket around Credence’s shoulders.

“You’ll be okay, Credence. You’re in good hands,” Newt said, catching Tina’s eye. He said nothing more.

They ate quietly, both Tina and Newt making sure that Credence had his fill and then some. When he could eat no longer, Newt asked him what he remembered before he disappeared.

He scratched his head, attempting to focus. He told them he remembered swirling and flying and anger. He remembered the crashing and destruction and the screaming.

“You were there. And you too,” he said to Ms. Goldstein and Mr. Scamander. “And...Mr. Graves was there. You were all trying to help me...but the wizards...I frightened them. I remember flashing lights and shooting pain. Then I-I was small and tired. Then...” He wiped his eyes, suddenly weary.

Tina placed a hand on his shoulder. “It’s okay, you don’t have to go on.”

“Who was that other wizard? He was wearing Mr. Graves’ clothes! His hair was white. That wasn’t Mr. Graves, was it? Was I seeing things?” He clutched his head, trying to recall.

“Mr. Graves cared about you,” Tina said. “That’s all that matters right now.” She cast a stinging glance to Newt and he shut his mouth.

After the dishes were clean, she showed him to the bathroom down the hall, bundled with lavender soaps and several towels.

“Tell me, Newt. What's his condition? Will he be okay?”

“He has some memory of the incident, but I don't think he knows about Grindelwald. Who knows how much time he spent with him?"He stroked his chin.

“And the obscurus lingers. It is weakened greatly. Near expiration, in fact.”

“That’s a relief,” she said, pouring herself a glass of wine. She watched him sulk at the table. “What? It’s _not_ good news?”

“Not if we want to help others mired in the same swamp,” he said. “There are bound to be more obscurials out there, Tina.”

“Credence Barebone is the first anomaly of his kind, Newt. You said that yourself in your letters.”

“I said that he is the first of his kind _we know about_. There could be others suffering in silence. Trapped in attics, locked beneath staircases. If we let the obscurus fade away, we've no hope of addressing theirs.”

“What are you proposing, then? That we make him a habitat for the sake of your research?”

“I would never propose such a thing, don’t be ridiculous!” Newt filled his glass as well. “But if we are to understand and assist those in the same cracked boots as young Mr. Barebone, then we need to extract that obscurus and study it. Learn from it.”

Tina swallowed. She remembered Credence's shell shocked face. She could only imagine the road that brought him to that point. He didn’t cry out or curse when the leather lashed his skin. The shock of it had worn thin—he had been used to it! To think that another young witch or wizard was suffering the same fate as they spoke.

He wasn’t wrong, however. Newt’s eyes were large and genuine. She could tell he was thinking and calculating. He may be onto something. If she could stop just one more lonesome child from succumbing to the despair brought on by an obscurus, perhaps it would be wise to explore every route of understanding them.

“Can that be done? Can you relieve him of that burden?”

“I’m not certain.”

“We’ll need help. Some oversight.” She looked over to her framed auror certificate on her bedroom wall. “In any case, I will need to bring Credence into headquarters as soon as possible. Tomorrow. President Picquery will need to be informed about Credence.”

“I’m worried about what they will do. The obscurus is still feared. It is still bonded to the young man. What if they reject him?”

“He needs help transitioning into the wizarding world. He has no schooling or knowledge with magical ways or laws. Once you tell them about your intentions, maybe they’ll agree to help him.”

“He’ll need a lot of help indeed. But I believe there may be a way to loosen it and ease his burden.”

“What do you mean?”

“The obscurus forms when the witch or wizard is forced to repress their latent talents. The trauma of living in those oppressive conditions nourishes it—eventually to a fatal extent. But what if we remove its source of power? That may render it safer to extract.”

“So we’ll find a tutor then. We can find him a boarding house and monitor and—”

“Can you be my teachers? Please?” Credence asked in a small voice from behind the ajar French doors. “I-I can cook and clean here for you. I-I am capable. I can be of use.”

He wrung the towel in his hands.

“I don’t have a penny to my name, i-it’s all I can offer. Won't you please consider?”

Tina glanced at Newt. She slowly put an arm around his shoulder and guided him to the beds in the front room. “You won’t be alone. Not again.”

Newt joined them. “This will be an exciting time, Mr. Barebone. You’re in for quite the adventure, just you wait.”

“Tomorrow we’ll start getting you ready for the next step. Does that sound good?”

Credence nodded and pulled the covers high to his chin, utterly drained. He prayed that when he awoke, all of this would still be here for him.

Later in the night, Tina penned a short letter to Magical Security, telling them that Credence was alive, and to expect their arrival tomorrow morning. She hoped that the fore-warning would smoothe over the inevitable shock.

  


* * * * *

  


Being on the receiving end of procedure didn’t sit well with Percival. His wand confiscated, dressed in nothing but a patient’s gown, he waited to be retrieved. He knew in no small way that his old life was over. Grindelwald made good on one promise. His world was destroyed, at least.

Three MACUSA wizards led him to the interrogation chambers, where Percival had himself worked with efficacy and precision. President Picquery’s orders, no doubt. He had no reason to resist, though he expected nothing good of it.

He hardly slept in the intervening hours.. Though his mind was finally at ease, free of the constant poking and prodding of that pale wizard, he could ponder nothing but his confinement. Two eyes, one white and one dark, seemed to watch him from every shadow. For weeks he had experienced nothing but bewilderment and torment. His mind was ripped open and mined. He supposed that would be what he would tell her.

They seated him in a dim chamber, a bright lantern focused on him and him only. They strapped him in with enchanted cuffs. Percival did not resist. To his left, he knew, was the enchanted wall. No doubt members of the Magical Congress were present as well as the interim Director of Magical Security. He wondered idly whom they have chosen. The thought was quickly washed away.

To his right, a small silver tray floated toward him. On it rested a group small vials, with tiny quantities of liquid within. He knew how this worked. At least Seraphina knew his weak spot; though proficient in occlumency, he had not the strength to resist the serum even if he had wanted to. That weakness, no doubt, led to Grindelwald’s manipulation. He took a deep, calming breath.

Hopefully that intimate knowledge would work in his favor.

From the shadows stepped President Picquery herself, garbed in a simple white coat and matching headscarf. Behind her stood three other aurors, ready to strike. Her eyes narrowed.

“Drink this. We will know shortly if you are who you claim to be.”

“I claimed to be no one other than myself,” Percival said gruffly. “However, for your sake and MACUSA’s, I will cooperate.”

She kept him in his gaze as she brought the vial to his lips. He swallowed and tasted nothing. She waited.

Heart beat slowing, Percival entered a deep, trance-like state.

“Now,” she started. “Who am I speaking to?”

“Auror Percival Graves, Director of Magical Security and Head of Magical Law Enforcement of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.” The words flowed seamlessly out of him. His own hand had written that title countless times during his time here. He heard president Picquery breathe a sigh of relief, but she stood did not yield.

“To your knowledge, does anyone else control you? Are you ensorcelled or otherwise compelled at this moment in time?”

“I cannot say for certain. As of now, only I control my limbs, my words and thoughts. I detect no intrusion,” he reported. It felt like a debriefing. If only it were that simple.

“What do you recall of the last three months?”

“...Too much.”

“Report.”

“Through the stone, Gellert Grindelwald channeled my being, my essence. I have few words to describe it.”

“Then try,” she commanded firmly.

“He...” Percival winced at the recollection. It brought him nothing but pain.

His mind was carved into, overcome and laid bare for Grindelwald to mine and exploit.

He saw what Grindelwald saw. Felt Grindelwald use his words. Felt Grindelwald’s fingers run against another's skin in small, intimate affections only he knew. They were his sentiments, but...altered to another's ends.

Grindelwald kept up his reconnaissance regarding the powerful, reverberating magic in Mary Lou Barebone’s household, an assignment given to him by Picquery herself. Whereas Percival wanted to help the boy, Grindelwald sought to use him.

Somehow, the compelling force behind his actions were still his own, but directed by Grindelwald’s influence, like an actor on the stage who was ultimately a tool for the director’s whims and visions. He felt as if it were he himself speaking, but with oversight and infallible impulse.

However, they were not acting as one. Percival explained that his memories and knowledge were Grindelwald’s, not mutually shared. He had no insight into Grindelwald’s mind—none that he recalls, anyway.

Then there was the boy, Credence. He tightened his lips. She dosed him again.

When he, Grindelwald, reached out, it was because Percival himself longed to reach out—to touch, to comfort, to hold and to soothe. However, Grindelwald still had his own schemes and motives. He used Percival’s emotions to get what he desired. He was a mere instrument.

The channeling scoured him like acid. Darkness drenched him. A piercing light above him would resound with powerful energy. Through he would glimpse the outer world from the simulacrum of his office. He would cry out in vain as the inside of his skull was scraped raw. And when Grindelwald had finished using him for the day, he sat in drained despair alone.

The mere memory scoured him. His heart raced. She brought the bottle to his lips again.

He recalled the weeks leading up to the Obscurus Incident, in the glimpses Grindelwald allowed him to see. More veritaserum.

“Too much.”

Credence’s demise enveloped him, drowned him. Inevitably, the frame of events circled around to that young man—his boy—as he shared what his memories and guise put into motion. The investigation, the explosive force of the obscurial, the subway.

Then he saw Credence suspended in the air, lights searing the dark all around him, his face wrenched in agonizing betrayal.

“Director Graves,” Picquery asked, “did your interest in the obscurial Credence Barebone extend beyond your duties as director and auror?”

He clenched his eyes shut, feeling a tremor pass through him violently. The enchanted cuffs tightened as he struggled. To admit it now was painful. Credence was beyond reach and beyond his touch. He nodded.

“I wanted everything for him. He deserved better,” he spat out between clenched teeth. “He needed help and I wanted to help him.”

“Graves...”

“He needed love...and I wanted to give it to him.”

His head spun, utterly drained. The room darkened and faded away. He heard the murmured orders of Picquery. They slowly and deliberately removed the cuffs and he felt strong hands grip him under the arms. His feet dragged on the floor.

Let them lock him up. He had nothing.

 

* * * * *

  


Credence woke with the dawn as he was accustomed to. He pulled on his cramped jacket and short pants, laced his confining shoes, and tied the small boy’s tie around his neck. He crept into the small kitchen past the snores of Mr. Scamander.

Some dishes were left over from last night, which he cleaned and put out again for breakfast. Meal planning and cleaning were among his duties at Pike Street. Mary Lou and his older sister, Chastity, were usually up earlier than he, saying their morning prayers and mapping out their picketing destinations for the day. Credence would be responsible for the thin soups they would ladle out to desperate and destitute children. He wished he could make it richer for them, but cultivating the balance between hunger and satiation was a strict instruction of Mary Lou’s.

“Our mission relies on this model of nourishment, Credence.”

Credence found Tina’s mixing bowls and flour. He cracked eggs and brought the milk out. He would make flapjacks for them that day. Modesty always liked his flapjacks, though syrup and sugar were, at best, merely tolerated by Mary Lou on good days.

“An overabundance of sugar disrupts one’s digestion,” she had said to him, leather straps firmly in hand, “and leads to slothful behavior, Credence.”

He winced. The knife nicked him as he was cutting the bacon. He held up his finger and watched the blood bead on his skin. How strange it was that he had blood yet, that he was flesh and bone once more.

Credence wiped his eyes and tried to focus on the frying pan. Ms. Goldstein and Mr. Scamander would be different, he hoped. He could live here. They could make a little spot for him in the corner of the kitchen and teach him charms and tricks to heal his wounds make him forget the one bandages could not dress. He didn’t take up much room.

He wrapped a strip of cloth about his finger. The scars on his palms caught his eyes. They were so smooth and pliable, nothing like the hidings elsewhere. Mr. Graves had not been there to soothe those. He imagined Graves running his strong, warm hands over his neck and shoulders and back, caressing his wounds, making them evaporate.

He flipped the pancake. Credence craved those moments in between, perhaps craved them still. He recalled one night, earlier on, when Mr. Graves had summoned him to the alley to talk. It was after the kind witch, Ms. Goldstein, had fended off another one of Mary Lou’s attacks.

“My boy, you look absolutely famished,” Percival said, taken aback. “It looks like you haven’t eaten in days.”

Credence said nothing. He made the mistake of adding the cut of brisket to the stew for the orphans. He held his elbow with one hand, eyes cast to the ground. Percival reached out and stroked Credence’s gaunt cheek with his thumb. He looked up into Percival’s chocolate brown eyes.

“Soon this will all be behind you,” Percival said. He brought up his left hand and wiped a tear from Credence’s cheek. “It will all be...like just another bad dream. Just you wait and see. I’ll get you out of here, you understand?”

“Do you promise?” Credence said, hand shooting up to grasp his wrist. “Y-you’ll do that for me?”

Percival nodded. “I promise, my boy. I promise.”

That evening, instead of passing out fliers and being knocked to and fro by cruel passersby, Percival, with a tip of his wand, dissolved the hateful leaflets and took him out to eat. Credence wasn’t sure how to conduct himself in a restaurant. He scanned the menu items, balking at the prices. A whole dollar? No way he could ever afford it. It didn’t sit well with him to make Percival spend that much on him.

Percival chuckled at the notion. “Don’t worry about the numbers, Credence. People in my line of work get compensated quite generously.” He took his menu. His fingers grazed Credence’s.

“How about I handle this and you worry about relaxing and getting your fill, eh?”

He remembered thinking in that moment that he could never get his fill of that kind man and his strong hands. He longed for Percival’s quarry to reveal itself so he could swiftly move on from this life, away from Mary Lou and the New Salemites.

As Credence was laying out the dishes, he heard a sudden thumping in the front room.

“Credence?! Where have you gone?” he heard Mr. Scamander call out. Heavy footfalls raced to the French doors and there he was, hair plastered on the side of his face and dressed only in his night clothes.

“Oh, there you are,” Mr. Scamander said. “You gave me quite the start.”

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” He hung his head low and to the side, ready for a litany of scolding.

“No, no it is really quite—wait, are those flapjacks?”

Behind him he heard Tina yawning. Already she was dressed in a smart jacket and trousers in navy and gray stripes.

“It smells really good, Credence,” she said, serving each plate. “And good thing, too. We have a lot ahead of us today.” She sat and caught Newt’s eye. He nodded and joined them at the table.

“Quite.”

  


* * * * *

  


Percival was released to the Ward for Magical Maladies that morning, eyes red and throat dry. President Picquery and the congressional members approved his release. A standard medical examination, which was scheduled for later that afternoon, was all that stood before him and what followed.

His shoulders were hunched over as he followed two wizards in white coats to his hospital room.

The cot was plain and clean and the sky outside crisp and clear. By all means it should have been a lovely Sunday afternoon, but the depths of his admissions to Picquery haunted him. He could ponder nothing but Credence now. He lay down on top of the covers and stared at the ceiling.

Picquery cleared him for auror duties, but strongly recommended he go on holiday to recuperate before assuming the director’s seat. The throbbing pit in his stomach, however, dampened any desire to return to his office at all. He recalled the gale of flashing, burning lights and the sight of Credence suspended and crying out in pain. He had never heard the boy’s lungs work so hard. And to so little effect.

From beyond the veil, deep within the stone, he watched as Credence was torn to bits, against his orders.

A small smile came to mind. When Credence dared to dream for the first time, Percival’s heart had leapt. The mere promise flooded those eyes with something rare and not easily nurtured—hope.

He covered his face with both hands. Credence’s liberation would never manifest.

In his cot, Percival turned away from the window. He mentally penned a letter of resignation. He couldn’t bear the thought of facing his league of aurors. Not now, not ever. They had wrenched from his grip something most dear, a chance to right Mary Lou Barebone’s wrongs, to make those small smiles of Credence stretch wider and wider.

He had been used and nearly implicated in the grandest infiltration of MACUSA’s history. Had Picquery not cleared his name, he would be facing the death penalty. The clearing of his name offered little relief.

Percival curled up in his covers, desperate for sleep.

  


* * * * *

  


The trio walked casually up the stairs and between the wide columns. Through the glass doors, he saw normal men and women going about their days. No way this could be Ms. Goldstein’s workplace. It was too normal, too unsuspecting. There was nary a wand or spark of sorcery in sight.

Some weeks ago, his adoptive mother rooted herself to this very spot, proselytizing and ranting. He was there, dutifully, beneath her, passing out their carefully printed literature. He remembered a man in a peculiar blue suit pausing to shake his head at him. His hair had been pushed back, with pleasing passages of gray at his temples and an air that Credence couldn’t quite describe. Magic.

Normally passersby would heckle and point fingers. Sometimes they would shove him down into the dust and gravel. At times, employees would forcibly remove him from the premises, casting him into the gutter. But this man’s eyes were filled with pity, not hate. Credence knew what hate looked like. Mary Lou’s opaque, penetrating gaze was impossible to shake, even now.

Little did he know he would meet that man again and again. He shook his head, dismissing the memories. He had other things to look forward to now. And, for the first time in his life, they might really come to pass.

“Are you ready?” Tina asked him. Credence nodded and allowed himself to be guided through the revolving door. Before he could get his bearings, the foyer around him shifted and spun. The already grand hall expanded high into the sky. No, that wasn’t sky. Above them, floating in the building itself, were clouds and a radiant sun, which cast the various feathered creatures and their parcels above them into stark shadow.

They were surrounded by men and women in strange attire, with unusual tailoring and flamboyant flair. Unfamiliar objects met them at every turn—brass ornaments floating like constellations, quills and ink, floating envelopes spouting what might as well have been a foreign tongue.

In the center of it all hung grand clock with hands pointing not to numbers, but ideas. Beneath it stood a group of five. Two were in long leather trench coats; Credence shuddered at the sight of them. The others seemed to be doctors of some kind, with white coats and shoes.

A somewhat petite man stood between them, dressed in a high collar and hair combed neatly to the side. On his lapel was circular gold device, which he was seen muttering into as they approached.

“Mr. Scamander, Auror Goldstein. We have been expecting you.” His eyes darted to Credence. The man’s expression was eerily guarded, which put him on edge. The bland smile did not help.

“Mr. Abernathy,” Tina said flatly. “Long time no see.”

“You can relax, Auror Goldstein. I am not here for you.” He crossed his arms and tapped his toe. “So you’re the creature who almost revealed our whole society? I have to admit, for something so eminently destructive, I figured it would at least have some bearing and presence.”

“Don’t you speak to him that way,” Tina interjected. “This young man has more magical potential in his little toe than you do in your whole person.”

Mr. Abernathy grinned bitterly. “The fact that you are no longer my charge is no excuse to speak with such crassness, Auror Goldstein. Besides, I am here on orders of President Picquery herself to make sure that he is transferred to the appropriate authorities.” He reached into his breast pocket and procured an order signed “President Seraphina Picquery.”

“What’s the meaning of all this?” Newt interjected, taking the missive. “He needs help, not a military escort.”

“He is to examined in the Ward for Magical Maladies,” the witch in white answered. “We assure you that he will come to no harm.”

“D-don’t talk about me as if I weren’t here,” Credence uttered at last. “What does all of that mean?”

Mr. Abernathy swallowed, eyes rapidly scanning Credence. He didn’t answer. He turned to the group. “Well, what are you waiting for? Get on with it.”

The dark-skinned auror to his left rolled his eyes. “We are doing this on the president’s orders, not yours, Abernathy.” He reached out to Credence. “Come along. You heard the doctor. We aren’t here to hurt you.”

Tina’s eyes scanned the order as well. She looked to Newt.

“My hands are tied, Newt. We risk arrest if we don’t follow procedure.” Staring the death potion in the face was not an experience she was eager to relive.

Credence folded his arms over his stomach and hung his head low as he followed the people in trench coats.

“Don’t you worry, Credence!” he heard Newt say behind him. “We will get this sorted out in short order. You can count on it!” Credence watched as Ms. Goldstein pulled Mr. Scamander aside and through another revolving door.

The strangers led him on a twisting and winding path. Were it not for the firm hand on his elbow, he would have lost his way in the labyrinthian building. The swirling brass filigrees and elaborately inlaid marble dazzled and distracted him. The staircases and revolving doors and turns left and right dizzied him. To think that a structure like this had existed right under New York’s nose.

Occasionally, he caught the eye of this or that witch or wizard. Some were pitiable, but others regarded him with shock or fear. Some didn’t recognize him at all. He didn’t know if witches and wizards even read newspapers and fliers, but it was the only reasoning he had for the frequent flashes of recognition.

The hours of his transformation were a chaotic blur of darkness and sparks. What had he done?

The group came to a large white marble archway. Emblazoned on the curving and elaborate stonework were the words, “Ward for Magical Maladies.”

The duo in white led him inside and down a long, pristine corridor. The hand finally loosened, but the two in leather trench coats still followed them. He felt eyes digging into the back of his head; it reminded him of Mary Lou’s vigilant oversight.

At last they came to a door, which swung open of its own accord. Inside he saw a plain white cot attended by a variety of gleaming instruments that he couldn’t name or fathom. The two guards stood outside while one witch guided him to the bed. She handed him a set of what looked like a patient’s gown.

“Now you go ahead and put this on. We have another basket for your own clothing. We will have a house elf get them nice and clean for you, okay?”

“House elf?”

The witch drew a curtain, bisecting the room and giving Credence privacy while he changed. After placing his last darned sock in the basket, he spotted a spindly, tiny limb dart from underneath the curtain and seize the basket, causing him to yelp. He covered his mouth, certain he had offended the creature. Who knew what the punishment was for that?

The witch asked him if he were ready and murmured, “Yes.” She guided him toward the bed and seated him.

“Now I have to go and fill out some forms for you, Mr. Barebone.”

“How do you know my name?”

She smiled kindly and told him not to worry. She urged him to lie down as she reached down over the sides of the bed. Just as his head hit the soft pillow, he saw the gleaming of metal buckles attached to thick leather straps.

“This is just a precaution...” she said, unbuckling the thick metal buckles.

He began to tremble. “No...No, no, no!”

“This is just to make sure you don’t go wandering off and hurting yourself, young man,” the witch explained coolly. “There are a great many potions and tools that could really hurt you if you aren’t careful.”

Credence yanked his wrist back as the cool leather closed around it. The witch shook her head and seized it, tightening the straps as he struggled.

“I know, I’m sorry, young man. I have to make sure everyone stays safe, you know. Until you learn to control yourself.”

He shook back and forth his head as strap slipped through the buckle. His eyes began brimming with tears. She pulled up his right sleeve, eyes running over the lines of cuts and scars. She shook her head, working on the buckles at his ankles.

He lashed out, kicking and writhing. She caught his ankle. “This will all be over soon,” she grunted as she tightened another strap. “Sooner if you would just cooperate.”

He frowned, jaw trembling when the final strap was fixed. No way out. He yanked uselessly at the cuffs, but they only seemed to tighten.

“I will be back in just a moment, okay? Just stay put and try to relax.” She turned and made a swift exit. Behind the door, she heard her speak low to the guard outside. The glass over the window frosted over, becoming translucent but opaque.

He looked at all four buckles and uselessly pulled at their bondage. He looked up toward the high window tucked in the corner. His breath caught in his throat. Curling over the window were black tendrils—wrought iron bars. He pulled again at the straps, but they only stung his skin. Trapped, he was trapped!

His mouth was opened in a silent cry as he tugged at the buckles. Each time, flashes of Mary Lou darted in his thoughts accompanied by the sharp crack of his own belt. One, welt, two welts, three, four, five, six, seven—they went on and on. He could feel the blood trickling down his haunches. He cried and wept.

This place of magic and sorcery was supposed to be his escape, his new beginning. He tried bringing the straps to his mouth, but the chains seemed to shrink back with every attempt.

He wanted Ms. Goldstein to come save him. He wanted Mr. Scamander to come comfort him. He wanted...he wanted that warm hand over his, gliding over his neck and cheek and those soothing words. Credence relented, collapsing onto the mattress, shaking his head back and forth.

Squinting his eyes shut, he thought of Mr. Graves: his chocolate-colored eyes, the scratch of his stubble, the calluses of his palms, the softness of his words. His breathing quickened.

He wanted to go to him. He wanted to escape these shackles and fly away, far, far away from the city and the wizards in trench coats and the small, rusted cot in a darkened cellar and the ever-present ire of Mary Lou’s eyes. He wanted to be with Mr. Graves, the last person who understood him. Where was he? Where was his Mr. Graves?

A loud snap vibrated against the metallic instruments. He couldn’t breathe. Against every pore pressed a great weight, caging him in. He felt infinitely small, hurdling and hurdling to who knew where. The cot gave way beneath him and the white room swirled round and round. Then, for a brief moment, everything vanished.

  


* * * * *

  


A piercing crack startled Percival awake. The covers flew off his cot. He was up on his feet in an instant. He instinctively reached to the nightstand for his wand but found it bare. He was still in the ward; he had to call someone, warn them! Apparition in the ward was highly restricted.

Percival began to leap toward the door, but Percival stopped in his tracks. A figure sat huddled in the corner. His jaw dropped.

A young man, curled up and sobbing into his patient’s gown. His head was down, black hair in disarray, cowering behind an arm chair. It couldn’t be.

Percival couldn’t possibly be awake, but this felt too real to be a dream either. Perhaps, he thought, it was the stone at work, another cruel piece of torture bleeding into his psyche. Percival rubbed his eyes, but the sobbing figure remained. Streaking across the figure’s arms were the all too tragic and familiar lash marks. Percival held his breath as he slowly took a step forward.

The sound startled the young man. He looked up and scanned the room. A sob caught in his throat. His eyes widened and he slowly got to his knees.

“Credence?” Percival said softly. “Can that be you?” He dared not approach, lest he scare the boy away.

“M-Mr. Graves?”

“Yes. Yes, my boy. It’s me, Mr. Graves.” He held his breath.

The young man wiped his eyes with the back of his hand and steadied himself as he stood. The room spun around him and Credence quickly lost his balance. Percival rushed over to the boy and caught him mid-fall. Credence’s skin was warm and his tears not yet dry. He brought Credence over to the bed, where he collapsed into his shoulder. His arms were wound tight around his gut.

“I-I don’t feel well, Mr. Graves.” He hiccuped and covered his mouth.

Percival quickly grabbed the unused enamel basin and brought it to Credence. He averted his eyes as Credence coughed and retched into it. He eyed the corner, where the boy had suddenly appeared, no, _apparated._

He handed his untouched glass of water to Credence and he drank it down. Before he could place the glass on the counter the nightstand, the door to Percival’s room burst open and three aurors rushed in, wands raised.

Percival turned to envelop Credence, shielding him with his back.

“Hands up,” the lead auror shouted.

“Mr. Graves, I’m scared! What’s happening?”

Percival shushed him. “I won’t let them hurt you. Not again. Just do as they say and everything will be okay.”

A hand jerked Percival’s shoulder back, revealing Credence.

“Credence?” Tina called out from the back, utterly bereft. “How on earth?” She appeared behind the trio of aurors.

“We received of an unauthorized use of apparition in the Restricted Ward, ma’am,” a witch near the front reported.

Percival huffed. So that’s where they had put him.

“I—I didn’t mean to,” Credence said, voice raw and hoarse. “I swear, I didn’t mean to.”

“Lower your wands. Now,” Tina commanded. The aurors nodded. They kept their wands at their sides.

Behind Tina, the witch in the white lab appeared. “There you are! When the ward head catches word...never mind. You must come with me now!”

Credence clung tightly to Percival’s arm. “Please. I don’t want to go back there. I don’t want to be trapped again.”

Percival saw inflamed, red marks around Credence’s wrists and ankles.

“You restrained him?” he growled.

“Now, Director Graves, I had strict orders to—”

“He’s not going anywhere. Not without me,” Percival said. He felt Credence’s breath hitch.

“Let me, doctor,” Tina said. Slowly she approached the bed, toeing the used basin underneath the cot. She got down low, looking up at Credence, who was still wrapped up in Percival.

“I’m sorry about all of this,” she said softly. “Today was supposed to be exciting, but not like this. We just want to make sure you’re nice and healthy, that’s all.”

Credence was quiet. His breathing slowed and he pulled away slightly.

“There’s going to be some things you don’t quite understand. I know it can be scary. I’m sure the mean doctor didn’t mean to scare you like that,” she shot a withering glare over her shoulder. “We just need to check up on you. After that, we can get you started with your new life. What do you say?”

He sniffled, and was quiet for some time. He wiped his eyes again. “Only if Mr. Graves can come with me.” Percival met his gaze.

“Of course, Credence,” Tina said. “Whatever you need. We’re here to make sure you’re safe and sound.”

“But Mr. Grave is scheduled for routine outgoing examinations.”

“By mandate 327-C, Auror Goldstein has the authority to dismiss routine, non-mandatory medical examinations in service of mandate 14-A, the directive to secure and/or ease magical known unknowns in the Ward for Magical Maladies for the safety and security of the ward at large,” Percival said, standing with Credence in tow.

“I’m invoking the directive now,” Tina said.

Credence looked to him. "What does that mean?”

He smiled softly, clearing the stray hairs from Credence’s forehead.

“It means as long as you’re here, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  


 


	3. The Graves Estate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for any weird syntax or spelling. I don't currently have a proof-reader and I try to catch what I can. I hope you enjoy this installment.

 

Percival froze when encountered by his office door. It loomed over him, an emblem of his imprisonment and Grindelwald’s domain. It took him some time to gather the strength to push through. Trapped within the stone, he had pushed on the door, only to find chasms of black stretch out endlessly before him.

He unlocked the door and pushed through. The disarray he confronted was nearly a relief. He was truly freed from the stone.

Nudging a harried stack of papers with the toe of his boot, he took in the wonton pillaging. He understood that Picquery ordered a thorough search of his quarters, but he couldn’t help but think some of this was Grindelwald’s doing as well.

Given that, he didn’t blame her. He would have ordered his Aurors to do so himself had be been less indisposed. His files were scattered, each cabinet thrown open and thoroughly picked clean. Sitting ruined in the corner was his enchanted safe. A visit to O’Donnahey’s Lock Emporium was the last thing on his mind however.

He collapsed into his armchair, attempting to gather his strength for the conference with Mr. Scamander and Auror Goldstein. To think that Grindelwald, wearing his face, sentenced them both to death as a sign of loyalist pragmatism. Given the evidence at hand, Percival wasn’t sure if he would have made a different call.

That was the crux of Percival’s distress—the line between him and Grindelwald, where did it end?

Shutting his eyes, he fortified his mental barriers. Still he felt nothing—no murmurs, no looming presence that dictated the ultimate shape of his words or the form of his touch. This lingering lack of security would linger. Credence was a prime example. He shook his head. The lash didn’t need to be present for one to feel its sting. Poor Credence.

The boy was in holding now, not chained up in a cell, but not free to leave either. They gave him a solid anchor to prevent any apparition, though Percival doubted he could replicate the feat now if he tried, not in his current state.

Oh, his eyes when Percival finally took his leave. He pleaded with Percival to stay, to please stay. How vast and lonesome the world must have seemed to Credence. That wooden fire hazard on Pike street was no more, and neither was its matriarch. He knew not what became of Modesty.

And now, what should have been the happiest moment of his life, his welcoming into the world of magic, was nothing but imprisonment and fear. The understanding and care he so desperately sought was not forthcoming.

This was supposed to be different, Percival thought. Credence was supposed to escape his bondage, not consign himself to more.

Gaining his resolve, Percival pulled on his overcoat and set out, leaving the mess and clutter behind him. At the Ward for Magical Maladies, he was cleared for auror duty, but nothing seemed further from his mind, not while Credence was still under MACUSA’s thumb.

The heels of his boots echoed loudly down the hall and robes billowed behind him.

At the ward, no sign of the obscurus had been uncovered but he knew that meant little. The mere suspicion of relapse, acutely magnified by Grindelwald’s wake and taunting words, would be enough to keep Credence here indefinitely.

Percival thought of several statutes that could accomplish such injury. They could argue that Credence’s freedom posed a risk to the wizarding world’s main governing statute—the conservation of their collective secrecy. Credence’s unwitting connection to Grindelwald’s scheming was another issue entirely; who was to say that he hadn’t groomed the boy to infiltrate and spy on his behalf? Who was to say those small kindnesses, nourished by Percival’s own emotional pull, wasn’t an indoctrination technique? The issues ran on and on.

All the more reason to advocate for him, he concluded. Percival, he knew, was one of the last people in this world the boy could rely on. Too much was at stake.

He spotted Auror Goldstein and Mr. Scamander down the corridor, the latter with his briefcase. He braced himself for the worst and to fight tooth and nail.

On the other side of the meeting hall, Percival discovered his acute dislike of this procedure as well. Above them, in her glittering robes and regal crest, stood President Picquery. Beside her floated a healthy roll of parchment and a quill to act as a stenographer. Normally he was sitting up in the benches, observing courtly proceedings, directly at her right hand.

The instrument is so rarely rendered discrete from its wielder. How things have changed.

Just as Percival was an extension of Picquery’s shrewd leadership, so too was he seen as a tool of Grindelwald’s treachery. Seeing her trust bend pained him so.

“You three have been summoned here to advocate for the release of Credence Barebone into the wizarding public. At your request, I have agreed to oversee this exchange. Know that these minutes will be delivered to other members of the Congress for deliberation.

“Though the Obscurus Incident has, so far, escaped the no-majs’ collective memory, the same cannot be said of the wizarding public. Since the incident, three different envoys have been received here; they not only want details about the near uncovering of our world, but also of our unwitting hand in the proceedings, namely the successful infiltration of Grindelwald and his manipulation of MACUSA resources.

“Their counsel varies greatly. Some want me to resign, some, more inflammable voices, wish to initiate a hunt for obscurials across the continental United States and in their own territories, but what they all have in common is the fate of the young man at the center of it all. Though his exact identity remains secret to the public at large, we cannot keep it so if we move forward with his imprisonment and high-security observation. In keeping with international magical law, I am bound to consider the counsel of my peers. Whether I choose to follow their advice or whether I plan an intricate plan of action is our quarry here today. What say you all?”

Newt cleared his throat and tightened his tie. Percival could tell that, even in the empty meeting hall, he was a skittish one.

“T-the obscurus within Credence lies dormant, but I have to say your current plan of action would only exacerbate matters.”

She cocked an eyebrow. “How so?”

“The obscurus is a strange force in need of strange nourishment. The repression of its host’s powers is, from my observations, only one component of its, erhm, incubation. If you keep the boy confined here, ignorant of his potential and magical lineage, feeling just as trapped as he had been previously, then you’d be providing him more of the same. On your territory.”

The quill scribbled vigorously, recording his words verbatim.

“And I don’t imagine these colleagues would tolerate having such a force on the premises. Too many variables,” Percival said, looking to Newt. “An obscurus of this strength has neither been studied nor witnessed before. The statute ratified after _Reginald v. Constance_ trial of 1860 requires that magical beasts and entities of unknown capabilities be studied on state property only after a permit has been ratified by the congress.”

Percival stroked his chin. “How likely is it that congress will approve of holding the boy on ground? They hardly approve of my release, and your interrogation has proved me innocent under wizarding laws of compulsion in complicity.”

Picquery offered nothing, face stone cold.

“What if, Mr. Scamander, the boy were allowed to study magic, and how to control his powers, what would happen to the obscurus then?”

“That’s just it,” Tina said. She stepped forward, back straight, meeting Picquery’s scrutinization head on, “we don’t know for certain. But we do have an idea.”

Newt cleared his throat again.

“In my research, an obscurus outside of its natural habitat, a witch or wizard, cannot survive, let alone harm any bystanders. However, it cannot be extracted without throwing its host into serious jeopardy.” He raised a tentative finger. “But it can be weakened. It has already weakened significantly by his release from terrible personal circumstances.”

Tina stepped forward. “We believe that, for the safety of wizarding society, we study and understand this obscurus.”

She reached into her pocket book and pulled out a pamphlet. Picquery reached out as it glided on the air toward her. On its cover was a print of a baleful, intruding eye and beneath it, burning in the fire rays of its gaze, were figures with thorny brooms and pointed hats.

“Anti-magical sentiment is not going anywhere anytime soon, Madam President. I was handed this literature on my commute here _this morning_ , President Picquery. If that is true, then who knows how many obscurials will be born from their hate?”

“Or how strong?” Percival added.

“And what do you propose? If his continued existence here is out of the question and the obscurus cannot be prematurely extracted without injury, then I need a plan of action in the interim,” Picquery demanded simply.

Percival could tell she was feeling trapped. The red tape of concrete wizarding law did not have her in a vice grip, but the hidden strands of social and political sway were another obstacle altogether. Any toe out of line could mean the end of her administration, not to mention the legitimacy of MACUSA at large.

“If the obscurus inside him is sufficiently weakened, at the brink of expiration, it may be possible to extract it with no harm done to Credence,” Newt offered.

“And if it is not?”

“Then we let it fade away,” Percival stated firmly. “We let the obscurus die and free Credence of his burden.”

“But,” Tina interjected, “we can’t let this opportunity escape us. The obscurus was born of systematic oppression and abuse—trauma. We owe it to those young witches and wizards in hiding to explore treatment for their condition. We can’t sentence them to a pre-mature death just because we refuse to understand! We can’t stoop to Mary Lou Barebone’s level. It would be cruel and unconscionable.”

“To the end of understanding, he’ll need tutoring and instruction in a stable environment—not under your thumb and not somewhere where he’ll feel isolated and targeted. Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry would be too stark of a change, I feel, not in his current state.”

Percival rushed to the foot of the staircase, fists clenched at his side, refusing to break her gaze.

“Send him with me, President Picquery. I will take responsibility for him. Let me care for Credence.”

“Director Graves?” Tina gasped.

“I’m one of the few left in all of New York City that the boy trusts. He is too vulnerable to send with anyone else,” Percival said.

Picquery was quiet for a moment. The scratching of the quill ceased. Percival held his breath.

“You must know how this will look, Director Graves. You may have passed legal measures of innocence, but others here still believe you to be in league with Grindelwald. If word spreads about his intentions with the boy, they will inevitably be ascribed to you as well.”

“Then publish the transcript my interrogation, Picquery! I don’t care. Tell them how much veritaserum you had me drink, if that will convince the skeptics. It was dangerously close to the limit dictated by international law. I ought to know.

“I am partly to blame for this. Somehow Grindelwald used me as his tool, his plaything, and if he had succeeded, we would’ve seen a massacre of no-maj and wizard alike on par with Inquisition. Please, let me atone. I will teach him everything he needs to thrive. I’ll earn your trust back by contributing this way.”

The room fell silent. Picquery scanned the great carved benches. This could be a great benefit to wizarding society. Mr. Scamander was already in possession of some renown in his field. It would be a great diplomatic stratagem—inverting MACUSA’s culpability through research.

“Very well.” A new parchment floated from the meeting hall’s reserves. She rapidly authored several lines detailing the arrangement, copied it twice and delivered it to their waiting hands. Percival snatched it out of the air and read it three times.

“I will propose the following to our congress: Director Percival Graves, you will be placed on indefinite and compensated administrative leave. Our interim director acting in your stead and will seek your guidance as needed. You will be responsible for the housing and instruction of Credence Graves. Namely, you will instruct him within Ilvermorny’s current curriculum. Additionally, you will aid his transition into wizarding society and its accompanying laws and standards.

“Auror Porpentina Goldstein, you will be responsible for reporting and, if the case calls for it, magical intervention on behalf of MACUSA. You will be placed on special, classified assignment, with your roles in other investigations re-allocated within your department.

“Newt Scamander, you will be responsible for the continued monitoring of the obscurial. I expect from you regular reports through your lens of bestiary expertise. If the time comes to extract the obscurus, you shall do at a classified location of MACUSA’s choosing, with Auror Goldstein attending. Your research shall be made public, whatever the results. I realize this may take you away from your other projects—”

“No, no, I am quite satisfied. You’re not taking me away from my research, whatsoever.”

“This means the world to us—and to Credence.” She held Newt by the elbow. He cracked a small, wry grin.

Percival hung his head low and breathed a sigh of relief. These proceedings would require a detailed and well-researched proposal to the other members of the congress, but Madam Picquery was sharp and shrewd, he had confidence that she would succeed.

 

* * * * *

 

Though Credence was not kept in a holding cell proper, they had staffed it as one. Lining the doorway, in dark leathers and wide brimmed hats, were two aurors. Both trained under Percival, but it would seem the tables had turned. It pained poor Auror Lucshkov to see him this way. She quickly read the missive of Picquery’s and motioned him inside the handsomely furnished room, casting her eyes at his shined shoes. At the very least, Percival thought, they tried to make the boy feel comfortable, if captive.

The door closed silently behind him. Credence stood slowly, arching his neck in his peculiar way. He hadn’t slept, not since Percival left the ward late last night. Now it was almost night again and so much has shifted around them.

“Am I in trouble?” Credence asked, eyeing the shiny toes of Percival’s boots. “T-they wouldn’t tell me anything. Am I going to be punished?”

“No, you aren’t going to be punished, Credence.”

He sat beside Credence.

“I wanted to propose something to you. No, that’s not right...I wanted to keep a promise I made to you a long time ago.”

Credence’s eyes shot up. “Do you really mean it? I want that..so much, sir.”

“A few things first, however: right now you have no legal status as a wizarding person here in New York, no magical training or rearing, and no wand. Has Mr. Scamander spoken to you yet?”

“Yes, he was here a little bit ago...he-he wants to keep an eye on me. To see how my ‘condition’ fares.”

“I suppose so, yes,” he reached over, and without meaning to he grabbed Credence by the knee. “But it will be nothing like your life on Pike Street, Credence. Please don’t think otherwise.”

He did not mention Mary Lou Barebone by name. He didn’t need to. The deadened wash settled in over Credence’s eyes as he recalled the sting of his belt and lingering cracks on his eardrums.

“The important thing is that you have people to help you now. Mr. Scamander and Ms. Goldstein will be here to make sure you’re doing well—adjusting to your new life.”

“But where will you go? I heard the guards outside talking. That’s what they are, aren’t they? They said that you lost your job, that you betrayed them...I don’t want to believe it. Is it true?”

Credence’s hand slowly wandered to Percival’s. So slowly, Percival was not certain Credence even registered it.

“I’m not going anywhere. As far as my work here goes...I won’t lie to you. I’m taking something of a holiday and for now...I won’t be missed. Our president believes in my innocence and we have the true criminal in captivity, but trust takes a long time to build, Credence.”

He withdrew the envelope for Credence to open. Seraphina Picquery’s seal was emblazoned on the front, an eagle crest with her initials.

“Consider this your first parcel as a wizard. Hopefully we can build that trust together.” Percival smiled. Credence held the considerable envelope in both hands, a slight tremor erupted as he carefully broke the seal. Inside were Seraphina Picquery’s itinerary for the transition and care of Credence Barebone, detailing his responsibilities as a fledgling wizard and who was to be his guide.

“I’m going to live with you,” Credence said, folding the paper gingerly. “Do you mean it? I’m really going to live with you?”

“You have a choice as well, Credence. I would be honored to teach you and am ready to welcome you to my estate. However, if you so choose, Ms. Goldstein has also opened her home to you.”

“No,” Credence said. “No, I a-am going to make you keep your promise, Mr. Graves. I mean it. You’ll teach me.”

The force of will shocked Percival and he chuckled. He wouldn’t have had it any other way.

 

* * * * *

 

“You will have put that away now,” Tina warned Credence. “You’ll be near the border soon.”

He could barely tear his eyes away from his certificate. There, in dancing lines of black ink was his name, punctuated by a stamp in golden ink. The eagle beat its wings silently, gallantly right on the very page! His heart leapt each time he read the words.

“Credence Barebone, wizarding citizen of the United States of America under the auspices Magical Congress of the United States.”

And there, in the corner, was a photo of him, but unlike any has seen before. It moved and blinked as if he were staring into a mirror. He tested the page. No glass, no tricks, only magic, pure and simple.

After one last glance from Percival and he dutifully enclosed the precious document in a stiff paper folder. They told him that to no-maj eyes its contents would appear to be ordinary no-maj immigration papers.

His original birth certificate was lost in a fire long ago. Credence could not tell the worker more. The nice worker at the Immigration and Transition Affairs Office was only able to estimate his birthdate using a spell.

Things like birthdays and their accompanying celebrations were a thing foreign to Credence and his sisters. This folder here contained a gift to make up for all the lost birthdays and Christmas mornings and Thanksgiving dinners combined. More than that! He clutched it tightly to his chest as he moved through the turnstile.

Before he could blink the sounds of the bustling offices and wizards and witches switched off, like a needle removed from the phonograph. He turned back. The entrance hall was back to normal. The clock in the center had numbers on its dials. Everyone had transformed into normal, no-maj nobodies once more.

Outdoors, the March afternoon had dissolved into brisk evening. Credence had borrowed a spare coat from the lost and found. Percival’s back on his hand guided him down the stairs.

“Well, I suppose this where we part,” Tina said. She bit her lip and folded her hands in front of her.

“I’ll see you again, though, won’t I?” Credence asked.

“You will,” Percival said. “As will I.”

“Get a lot of rest now, you hear? The next few days are going to get really hectic. And a lot to eat, you’re absolutely swimming in that overcoat.”

“Thank you Ms. Goldstein.”

“Please, call me Tina,” she said, nodding subtly toward Credence. They were all encouraged by Mr. Scamander to be friendlier with one another. A sense of safety was key, he had posited.

“Of course, Tina. Come, Credence, let’s get you home.”

“Oh..all right.”

Fortunately the evening rush traffic had long since diminished. He quietly showed Credence to a secluded spot and advised him to get close. “Now, close your eyes.”

Credence listened and once more, that loud crack whizzed about them. He felt pressed in on all sides, deeper and deeper into Percival’s chest. Next thing he knew their heels met stone and mortar. He opened one eye, then the other.

With Percival close behind, he stepped out into the street.

“109th street. You live all the way up here then. It looks nice.” He case his gaze out over the Hudson River, which was frozen and sloshy with snow. Far across the water, he saw the low skyline of Fairview. Or was it Union City. He realized he never ventured far from Mary Lou’s stalking grounds.

“Where did you imagine I lived?”

“I don’t know. You always seemed so close. I had always assumed you lived near Midtown, near the Mag—I mean, your offices, sir.”

“Come.” Percival beckoned him out further down the avenue. “And you don’t need to call me ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Graves.’ Percival is fine.”

A few blocks down, a grand edifice rose. The green copper glowing in the evening sun. Grand stone work rimmed the windowsills and columns. Black wrought-iron curled into flamboyant leaves and boughs in front of the windows. While taller buildings edged in on either side, the townhouse rivaled each one in regality and resplendence.

Credence had never been more glad to come home in his life. Percival had three whole stories to himself. He wondered if it got lonesome. Some nights, there wasn’t room enough on the wooden floors of the old church for he and the orphans to stretch out.

Percival unlocked the door and stepped in.

“Gladys? Gladys?”

So he wasn’t alone, Credence thought. He was glad he had some company, but he wondered who Gladys was.

He shut the door and waved his wand. The lights flickered on. Dark-stained wood made up the staircase and curling moldings. Lining the hall and running up the stairwell, shining grandly in the low light, was damask in dark blues with a diamond and striped pattern running throughout.

On the side table Percival found a note, hastily scrawled, dated months ago.

 

 

_“I have decided to leave the other half for you. Love you always, Gladys.”_

 

 

Some of the letters were smudged and smeared, as if wettened again before the ink had a chance to dry. Enclosed was a single sock.

“Dammit.” Need he be reminded of Grindelwald’s meddling at every turn?

“What’s the matter?” Credence asked.

“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Percival sighed. He supposed it was only fair. His former duties as director meant several nights home alone for poor Gladys. Even for a house elf, she was advanced in years, dutifully serving him and his father before him. If nothing else, she was able to spend her last years leisurely.

Percival’s stomach growled. Of course, no house elf meant no fresh groceries. Or anyone to prepare them.

“Come, Credence. Let’s show you the rest of where you’ll be staying. How does that sound?”

Credence nodded silently, casting a glance over his shoulder and clutching the hem of Percival’s sleeve.

First was the dining room and kitchen. The dining room proper comfortably seated eight, though, outside of formal MACUSA-related affairs, it was usually just himself at the dinner table, if he made it home at all.

Of course, at this point he dared not open the pantry, not without researching a transfiguration spell first. No telling what had rotten in there during his absence. If he didn’t act on this, they might go to bed hungry, and he could not do that to Credence, not on his first night here.

He watched Credence take careful stock of his pots and pans. He knew the lad made quite a little stretch quite a lot in his old life. Imagining what Credence could do with this kitchen at his disposal made his hunger all the more keen. Not that he intended to make Credence a live the life of a servant.

Credence, for his part, took down a handsome looking frying pan, testing the weight in his hand. Having seen some of the fancier eateries in Manhattan, Percival had concluded that no-majs were still capable of a magic all their own.

“Sometimes I try to boil and egg and it doesn’t quite turn out right,” Percival chuckled.

“I’ll cook for you,” Credence said boldly. “For the street children I...well I have a lot of practice.”

“Only if you want to. And don’t feel obligated to. Your magical studies and acclimation take first priority, understand?”

“I may tempt you to change your mind,” Credence said in good humor. Percival shivered and he blamed it solely on hunger. Exactly what that hunger entailed was a question he wasn’t currently equipped to address.

After touring the sunroom and storage closets on the first floor, they ascended to the second.

“There you have the second washroom, a spare closet for your things, once you acquire some of course and,” Percival pushed the guest room door open and was met with a veritable archive, “this _will_ be your room, once I get it sorted out.”

A small twin sized bed stood in the corner. On top, instead of pillows, sheets and mattress, were several filing cabinets filled to the brim with reports, cases, and various MACUSA documents. In the closet were more of his overcoats and shirts, still neatly pressed, if dusty. The rest was storage.

To the right of the landing stood two dignified wooden doors. Percival pushed them open, revealing a handsomely furnished and conceived study. Near the fire place sat an ornate armchair in burgundy leather upholstery, opposite a large desk with an inkwell and many drawers. The bookshelves were packed to the brim. the spines of the tomes were well-worn.

He still needed to fix the food. Percival was certain he had a copy of “Practical Magic for First Years” somewhere in his archives, though he supposed a more up-to-date copy would be better suited for Credence. He would be sure to show him his personal annotations, however.

“Your collection, it’s huge!”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit. My family has a long tradition of rearing aurors. Think of them as magical police, like Tina. Every publication that helped in our dutieswas of interest.”

“Mary Lou never used to let us read much. It was only her writing and the Good Book for us.”

“Do you like to read, Credence?”

He wandered the shelves, running an idle hand along the dark wood. He lingered near the history books, gazing at the titles.

“I remember I was passing out pamphlets,” he said quietly, head down, “a woman—perhaps another parishioner—gave me this huge book. ‘Middlemarch,’ it was called. I hid it in a loose floorboard when I wasn’t reading it. Sometimes it would be days before I got a chance to dig it out.”

“What was the story about?”

“It was about this woman named Dorothea and this man she married, a pastor. Edward Casaubon. She wanted someone with a purpose, you see. She always scolded her sister for liking jewels and fancy things, like dresses and bonnets.

“He ended being cruel and distant, making lots of promises, but never keeping up with them. She thought he would teach her Latin and Greek—to help with his research. It’s been awhile since I had a copy of it, I don’t quite remember all of it. There were lots of other characters too. It was named after the town they lived in.”

“You must have liked it, then, if it has stuck with you,” Percival offered. His hands rested on top of the armchair, watching the young man in reverie. The light of the flame flickered on his cheekbones and lips.

“Yes, I did. Anyway, her husband wasn’t really _bad_. I think he just didn’t know how to love her, or how to let her into his life. He was older than she was. I think that’s what she liked about him. Wiseness.

“I used to think moth—Mary Lou was the same way. She wanted the best, or maybe what she thought was best for non-magical people, and I always hoped that she would come around and let us in on some big part of the plan we didn’t know...I don’t know.”

“Credence, we don’t have to talk about her. The past is past.”

“I know. I just...I feel like it, that’s all.” His hand traced one last title and he turned back to face him. His eyes were red and moist, but no tears had fallen. “Anyway, I think I liked the story because there wasn’t really a big villain. It kind of depended on who you sided with.”

“Just like real life?”

Credence shook his head.

“No, not like real life. Not like Mary Lou,” he spat out. He wiped his eyes with the palm of his hand. Percival approached him slowly. Credence sniffled near the bookshelf, reliving god only knows what.

“How did the book end? Was it a happy ending?”

Credence shrugged and stared at his hands. “I don’t know...I never got to finish it.”

Percival grabbed a handkerchief and handed it to the boy. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. Percival cradled his chin in both hands, bringing his eyes to meet his.

“One more floor and then how about we have something to eat? It might make you feel better.”

Credence nodded slowly.

While he pointed Credence to the stairwell, Percival quickly retrieved his transfigurations manual.

“Another reading nook,” he said re-entering the hall. A soft reclining divan, upholstered in a deep purple, overlooked Morningside Park and the Hudson River through a crescent-shaped window. Several books, all with bookmarks wedged deep inside, were left untouched by months of neglect.

“The view is nice,” Credence said. He knelt on the divan and pressed his hands against the glass, watching the moon hover behind the distant skyline. Percival ran his hand over Credence’s shoulders, taking in the view.

“And on the far side of the hall is the master bedroom. So I won’t be far from touch.”

Credence leaned into him, eyes on the horizon long after the sun reached its destination.

“May I see it? The master bedroom?”

“I don’t see why not.”

He led Credence by the elbow and pushed through the double doors. One lamp flickered on, then another, illuminating the surprisingly spacious chamber. A four poster bed stood proudly in the center. Thick velvet curtains, rimmed with silver cord, were drawn, revealing thick embroidered covers and luxurious, iridescent bed linens. A broad, sturdy armoire was carved from what looked like slate. A standing screen accompanied it, painted with swirling lilies in silver and white, cranes nestling among them. The wallpaper ran in vertical stripes, subtly varying in widths, which created pleasing movement as Credence took in the room.

In the far corner, beside a standing mirror, a wealth of picture frames littered the dresser, beside his grooming instruments. He guided Credence over, selecting a small silver frame from among the promenade.

Much like his own photograph, the photo moved in the light. A smiling woman with dark hair tied high and tight smiled coquettishly into the lens. Her dark, almond eyes glinted in knowing ways, much like the brooch at her throat.

“This is my mother, Ethel Graves.”

“May I?” Credence took the frame and held it close. He saw Percival’s face in hers, the quiet, if dour heaviness of his brow and strong chin. He glanced to the older man, who appeared to be lost in a memory of his own.

“Let me prepare dinner, Percival. It’s really the least I can do. For a friend?”

“For a friend, then.”

 

* * * * *

 

Percival excused himself, saying he needed to rearrange part of his den. What a wonderful library it must be, Credence pondered. And soon he would have his own, instructing him in the practice and lore of wizards.

He got to work in the kitchen, pulling out drawer after drawer, memorizing where the flatware, silverware, plates, pots, pans and glasses found home. Dust coated his fingers. The kitchen was elegant in black and white tiles. The window above the sink looked into the small yard outside, which was enclosed by a high iron fence.

The pantry was expansive, yet empty for the most part. He retrieved the last of the potatoes, carrots and onion. The icebox contained a pound of beef, which would do for the night. He lingered near it, circling around it on both sides. It was a peculiar thing indeed; though the interior was perfectly cool, he found no point of entry for the ice block.

“Sorcery.”

He concluded that Percival did not have much time for cooking or housework. He wondered if he had a servant. Or did wizards not have need for such things? He imagined that with a twist of his wrist, Percival could have the whole household scourged and polished just like that.

He hoped Percival employed a cleaning person, at least. The house, though somewhat dwarfed by large apartment complexes on either side of the block, was too roomy for one man all on his lonesome.

Upstairs, Percival’s footsteps moved back and forth in his study. He got to work chopping and dicing, preparing the wood stove and taking out a medium sized pot. Admiring the smooth contour of it, he conjured up the meals that he would be freer to prepare here. Life with the orphans taught him how to make a little stretch painfully thin, and he imagined what he could do now that he had the proper supplies.

His adopted sister Charity, ever trailing in Mary Lou’s wake, was never put to work in the kitchen. Hers was a more important task—the rearing and monitoring of their budding army. It fell to him to prepare and gather their daily bread. The pursestrings were taut. On his lower back, inches away from his hip, stretched a reminder of his budgetary boundaries. He sniffed and kept to his work, determined to make himself useful, if not a good pupil.

Some time later, he crept up the stairs. The stew simmered, thick and savory; he hoped it suited Percival’s palette. Food was never a focal point for their clandestine meetings.

His footsteps were muted by the thick charcoal carpeting. Outside of the den teetered stacks and stacks of books, a dozen or so high. He knocked with hesitation.

“Come in.”

“The table is set. Simple things: stew and biscuits. I hope you don’t mind.”

Seated near the crackling fireplace, Percival was perusing a formidable stack of books. His coat had been carefully hung on the hooks near the door and sleeves rolled up.

“Never. It smells quite appetizing.” He placed the book on a vacant shelf across the room. “You can come in. No need to be shy. We’ll be spending a lot of time in here.”

Credence stood by his side. “What happened to these volumes? This shelf was full earlier.”

“Tomorrow it will be full again. I was thinking you could keep your manuals and textbooks here. A corner of the library for yourself.” Percival instinctively stood behind the boy, hand grasping his shoulder.

“I suppose it will be a lot,” Credence said, running his hand across the stained wood. “But where will your books go?”

Percival chuckled. “You’ve seen the house, Credence. I can scarcely fill this void on my own.”

Credence grinned, small and quiet. “I might make it hard for you. I hardly had room to myself sometimes at the old chapel. Stayed out of the way most of the time when I wasn’t needed.”

He turned around to face Percival. Credence was about the same height as Percival, if a bit taller; but when he was the sole focus of Percival’s pondering, excavating gaze, he could not help but feel small. Percival was close. Credence could sense the current of his body against his. He swept a hand from his shoulder to Credence’s chin, cupping his jaw line softly.

“You’re needed, my boy. No need to worry about that any longer.” He let his eyes linger a moment too long. Something seized him inside, but he shook it off and merely smiled.

“Now, let’s go eat. I haven't had a good meal in weeks.”

Credence nodded and followed him downstairs. At the dinner table, two places were set side by side at the handsome table. As they sat, Credence kept close to him and Percival obliged him gladly.

 

* * * * *

 

Shroud upon shroud upon shroud enveloped him. He sprinted through the haze, never finding the border. Did it exist? Was it endless? He swiveled on his feet. Something caught his boot and streaking pain ran up his leg. It yanked him back. He shouted into the dark but it was lost amidst the deafening roar. Not again.

He clawed at the darkness, trying to free himself from its miasmic grip. The roar rushed toward him. Heat entombed him on all sides. He couldn’t breathe or think or scream or struggle. Above him, the darkness parted, piercing light pouring in. Through the portal, he spied his hands doing another wizard’s work, his voice speaking another wizard’s words, his wand casting another’s spells.

His mind was ablaze. As if through a spyglass, he watched his hand reach out and caress the boy’s neck. He felt the pulse quicken beneath his fingertips.

“Run, boy, run!”

His lungs inflated with cool air. He shot up in bed. He ran his hands over his face. He raked his hair. He was drenched with sweat.

Yet, despite it all, he was in his own bed. The familiar posts encircled him. Outside, a light dusting of snow glided on the breeze. Home. He was home.

A rapid knock broke the silence. Percival crept toward the door, swallowing his lingering fear and panic. Behind it, in his old striped night clothes, stood Credence. His hands clutched the door frame.

“Are you alright, Percival? I heard...I heard you cry out.”

The cries were real then. He sighed and opened the door wider.

“It was just a bad dream, my boy. Nothing to worry about.”

“You’re lying, Percival. Please don’t lie to me,” he pleaded. “You're hurt...I want to help.”

Percival sighed and waved him in. One lone lamp lit itself in the corner, casting a faint, warm glow.

He changed out of his nightshirt, stripping the sweat soaked number and casting it to the corner. He felt the boy’s eyes on him.

Percival joined Credence on the bed, too exhausted to find another shirt. The were quiet for some time.

“I’m not hurt. Just...tired,” Percival said after the stretch of silence. “I dreamt I was trapped again. In that place of darkness. I was cut off from everyone, divorced from my actions while another wore my face. What a nightmare,” he groaned.

“But that dark wizard...he’s in prison. Tina, she told me that they captured him,” Credence stammered, more for his own ears than Percival’s. “She told me that he can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

His shoulders hunched as he sank into his memories. “In your nightmare. W-was I there? Were we together?”

Percival nodded. No use pushing him away.

“Yes...but you were far away. Like watching you through boiling water. Like how I watched you while...I wasn’t myself. But we shouldn’t linger on that now. We have a lot to do tomorrow, Credence. You need your rest.” Percival inched closer, almost imperceptibly so.

Credence bit his lips and Percival observed the curl of his mouth.

“Can I stay with you here? In your room?” Credence asked. Eyes cast down, he seemed to regret asking immediately after.

“Where would you sleep?” he asked, as if he expected any answer other than his bed.

“Here.” He stroked the voluminous cover with the back of his palm. “With you. I won’t take up much space. I promise,” he insisted.

He thought for a moment. The boy’s face was glowing in the moonlight. His nightshirt hung loosely on his frame. His eyes grazed the sharpness of his collarbone, the glide of his Adam’s Apple as he swallowed. He wanted to convince him to return to the nook, but he could not.

Without a word, Percival pulled the covers back and returned to his place beneath them. Gingerly Credence folded himself in the sheets, facing Percival.

In the dark of the night he felt Credence’s gaze fall on him again and again. He didn’t mind.

His bed had room for both, but, in the stillness, they became entangled in the center of the bed. Percival traced the light of the moon on Credence’s face as he slept. He watched Credence shift and twitch in his slumber and the boy returned the favor. Slowly he ran his hands over his shoulders and neck, trying to quell the uneasy dreams before they could ripen into nightmares.

Feeling his pulse and the rise and fall of his breath soothed Percival as well.

From a young age, the concept of peace was framed for him as a universal, yet nebulous pursuit—like the unconscious rhythm of one’s breathing. However, despite the professional pursuit of peace and security, he never felt it so palpably as he did in this quiet moment.

Before sleep finally claimed him, just as unconsciously as his lungs drew air and his mind settled into the cycle of rest, he pulled Credence close in a warm bundle, shielding him from the world.

 


	4. Shepard & Co. Department Store

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for the kind comments and words! It means a lot to me to have this so well received.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this segment.

 

Sunlight filtered through his dark embroidered curtains. He stretched out into the warmth, absentmindedly feeling around for Credence. Only sheets. He rose and stretched, feeling surprisingly well rested. He said good morning to his mother's photo, then pulled on his thick blue robe and trod downstairs.

Still, he needed was coffee, a whole pot if he could help it. On the second floor he caught the scent of bacon. Percival turned the corner and there he was. For a moment he leaned in the doorway and eyed him. His nightshirt's buttons were partially undone. The collar draped over Credence’s shoulder, exposing the nape of his neck and shoulder. The bottoms hung low on his hips, barely secured by the drawstring. Percival had never been so envious of stripes in his life.

His hair had grown out some, in long jet-black strands. Perhaps a trip to his barber was necessary as well, though they might not have the time today. The boy had nearly nothing to his name, save for his ill-fitting suit and waistcoat. This was in dire need of rectification. Though Percival would not mind the sight of his own shirts and underthings clothing Credence, it may help him feel more at home if at least his attire suited him. Clothes make the wizard, after all.

Credence grabbed a bowl to whisk the last of the eggs. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing the harsh lines of his own belt on his creamy skin. They were healed, and nigh invisible if you weren’t looking. Percival was always looking, however.

Credence greeted him over his shoulder. He appeared rested as well. Thank goodness.

“I put coffee on as well,” he said simply. “Nice and hot. Black.”

As they were eating breakfast side by side at the table, the front door bell sounded. A stout wizard in no-maj attire handed him a thick, rigid envelope and left wordlessly. It was from the Magical Congress’ Department of Education.

“A parcel for you,” Percival said. Credence’s eyes lit up, though the young man was patient and decided to wait until after breakfast was over to dive in.

The sizable envelope rested before him on the dark wooden table as Percival laid out their itinerary for their day together. They were to start at the wizarding department store, Shepard & Co., in Midtown, where they would get him the necessities for his armoire and washroom needs. From there, they would travel further down to purchase the books listed in his syllabi and the accompanying supplies.

Crowning the evening would be a trip to Johannes Jonker’s Wand Emporium to purchase Credence’s very own wand. Percival gave some thought to the wand woods, though he was no expert. He could see a cedar wand making a good match, or perhaps fir. He was a resilient boy and eager too. The wands would certainly pick up on his past turmoil and fortitude. 

"A wand of my own," Credence said, trailing off into daydream.

"They will really let me have one so soon, Percival? Really?"

"Of course. No better way to learn than hands on exercises," Percival reassured him. He laid a firm hand on his shoulder and smiled. Credence slowly rose to clear the dishes.

“And then we need groceries.” Credence said, bringing Percival back from his reverie. “I used the last of the eggs for breakfast today and there isn’t much in terms of staples. Apart from that, I wanted to make something special for us tonight. To celebrate.”

"Are you sure you won't be too tired?"

“If we are going downtown, I know of a nice grocer.  I haven’t seen Mrs. Popowski in some time. It would be nice to know how they are getting along. They price their goods quite reasonably.”

Money was not the problem. He wanted to take care and not overwhelm Credence too soon. So much change in so little time must have been dizzying for the poor boy and Percival was wary of leaving Credence on his own. Ultimately however, he couldn't say no. He saw how Credence's eye was drawn to the gleaming copperware. He decided that it couldn’t hurt. Far be it from him to say no to a meal prepared by Credence.

 

* * * * *

 

Credence was a tad reluctant to give up Percival’s night shirt.

“I didn’t realize how tight my clothes were,” he told him. Percival averted his eyes as the hem of his nightshirt glided over Credence’s skin. He handed him a spare broadcloth of his. Credence filled it out quite reasonably.

Once they were dressed, they convened in the study to go over his substantial syllabi: Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology, Charms, History of Magic in America, and Protective Magic Against the Dark Arts. Fortunately, electives were taken on in the third year. The two of them would have enough on their plate with the foundation alone. 

“How are we going to carry all of these books? Are we going to teleport?”

Percival chuckled. “Apparate? No, no. Apparating with too big of a load complicates things. It can get tiring after awhile, like going out for a long, long run when you’re out of practice.”

“We will be taking a cab.” He opened the front door.

Credence seemed a little underwhelmed by the idea as he craned his head to look for their transport.

“I don’t see one. Maybe it’s late,” he said, turning to Percival.

He locked the door behind them. “Look again.”

And there, seemingly out of nowhere, a yellow vehicle had appeared. It had thick rubber wheels, though it resembled a covered horse drawn carriage more than any auto Credence had seen on the street. When they approached, Credence raised his hand to wave, but found no one in the driver’s seat.

“More auto than a no-maj auto,” Percival said, answering the unspoken question. “I’ve rented it for the day for the sake of convenience.”

The side door sprung open and a metal step curled out to Credence’s feet.

“After you.” Percival held out his hand. Credence steadied himself as he stepped up into the carriage.

They remained close, though not for lack of space. Credence admired the finishings and to him the carriage belied the size of the interior.

“And don’t worry about our being seen. To a no-maj, we will appear as any other auto on the street, except,” the cab jerked to the left, “we can take our wheels off the beaten path.” The car glided down the alley. The brick should have scraped up against the sides, but they seemed to slip harmlessly through without incident.

“Amazing,” Credence said. He pressed his face up against the window, watching the people in the streets and the city blocks whizz by. “I haven’t ridden in an auto in some time.”

“How did you normally cover the city blocks?”

Credence jumped again as the cab veered down another alley, whizzing past trash bins and stray bits of litter.

“We walked. Everywhere we went, we walked. I remember my shoes being so tight. The blisters weren’t pretty, but there wasn’t any extra money for the train, let alone new shoes.” He slumped in his seat slightly.

“We'll be stopping by my shoemaker as well. Can't train if your shoes don't fit.”

“That's really generous. You sure?”

“If you want to begin anew, it’s good to have a solid foundation, don’t you think?”

Credence looked at his shoes. The leather was worn thin and the heel cap had entirely disintegrated. He would have to find some way to pay him back, Credence thought. Cooking and cleaning may not have been enough to repay the kindnesses of today, he thought as the cab swayed.

Several seemingly close calls later, the cab slowed to a crawl in midday traffic.

The department store stretched high into the sky. Credence had only been in this part of town a few times, with pamphlets and leaflets in tow. He stopped coming here after a memorable hiding. The doorman for the Macy's Deptartment store had pushed him out into the rain, scattering his pamphlets into the sodden gutters. Such a waste.

The cab at last stopped at the edge of the block. They stepped out and before Credence could catch  in his sight it was gone. He craned his neck, looking up and down the block, but the yellow cab had seemingly vanished into thin air.

“Don’t worry. It will be back when need it. Come.”

He slowed his gait and led him a few blocks past the looming department store and down an inconspicuous alley, past the day shoppers in their short skirts and cloche hats.

“Keep watch,” Percival instructed. Credence nodded and headed toward the mouth of the alley.

He tapped his want in a prescribed pattern. Stone and mortar shifted slightly and he waved him back over.

The bricks seemed to slot into one another in waves until a glass door, rimmed with shining brass, emerged from behind the wall. Percival held the door open and Credence stepped inside.

Soft piano music trickled through the big hall, sharing the air with rich, almost cloying, perfumes and colognes. Stretching out far before them, further than what the city block seemed able to accommodate, were rows and rows of luxuriously carved wooden counters, inlaid with glass cases displaying all manner of wondrous product: floating gloves, scarves radiating warmth, glowing jewels and glowing cufflinks. 

“We are bound to be out till sundown,” Percival mused. “Best if we get those feet taken care of first.”

He held out his arm and Credence held onto his elbow as he led him through the crowd. Witches and wizards left and right leaned over their counters, offering their wares and discounts.

“Make your words smell like a fresh spring breeze!”

“Your hair will never lose its curl! Man and lady alike cannot resist!”

“A rouge that changes with your mood!”

Every few steps, Credence would catch a sour glance directed at Percival, but the older man paid them no mind. Credence knew that feeling of being watched and judge, the object of ever passerby's aspersion. Percival either shrugged it off or pretended not to notice, Credence couldn’t tell.

The scent of rich leathers wafted toward them. Richly trimmed leather arm chairs were lined up row by row. Behind them stood round wooden tables with clawed feet. Stacked high were exquisite leather boots and shoes in browns, blacks, and deep reds.

“Why if it isn’t Percival Graves, as I live and breathe!” a portly man behind the counter exclaimed. He rushed from behind the counter and took Percival’s hand in an iron grip. His fingers were thick and burly; a wedding band around his ring finger seemed close to bursting.

“Clifton! You’re looking well. It's some time.”

“A bit too long, if you ask me! Might be making those shoes a bit too sturdy,” Clifton chuckled. “And who do we have here?”

“Credence, sir,” he said. He stepped over to admire the shoes. “I’m a friend of Mr. Graves. His pupil.”

“Gettin’ into tutoring, eh? I suppose you’ll be having a lot of time off soon.”

For a moment Credence and Percival’s eyes met, the latter cocking an eyebrow at the off-hand comment. Clifton gasped at the sight of his cap-toes.

“Looks like we have an emergency.” He urged Credence to sit. He propped up his foot on a low footrest and wagged his finger at him. “Should’ve come to me sooner!”

“He was a bit indisposed,” Percival said, wandering over to a nearby display. He grabbed a sturdy ankle boot and examined the stitching.

“And so were you, if I recall,” Clifton said, unlacing Credence’s shoe. “So they really have _the_ Grindelwald at MACUSA, eh?”

“What have you read about it?” Percival asked, turning swiftly, boot in hand.

“Prez Picquery made a statement about it. Didn’t you know?” He wheeled himself back on his worker’s stool and grabbed the old papers. So soon? He quickly scanned its pages.

 

 

“DIRECTOR GRAVES RECOVERED ALIVE, WHEREABOUTS CLASSIFIED BY ORDER OF MACUSA"

"DIRECTOR DOPPELGANGER! GRINDELWALD CHARGED!"

"GRAVES PLACED ON INDEFINITE ADMIN. LEAVE"

 

 

Percival breathed a sigh of relief. No mention of Credence Barebone or the obscurus. While he hadn’t disbelieved Picquery’s promise, he wasn’t so sure if her peers would have kept silent on his whereabouts. He was happy to be wrong for once. Other witches and wizards could think what they wanted of him. His true concern lay with the boy. 

“It’s a right shame, though. Got some mumbling that you were involved. But I knew out loyal director couldn’t be bought! Ain’t that the truth kid?”

Credence nodded, still visibly put-out by Clifton’s strong diaphragm.

“He’s a good man," Credence acknowledged. "I owe him so much."

Clifton, like a pallbearer, placed Credence's cracked, worn shoe on the carpet next to him. He slipped Credence’s foot into a metal contraption, whose parts slid smoothly to measure his feet. Another device was employed for his left foot.

“What were you thinking about today, young man?”

Credence shrugged. “Nothing too flashy, I guess. Durable. Something that will last me a long time.”

“Well you’ve come to the right place. Hey Grim Graves, tell him about the time that smuggled wampus cat had you by the ankle.”

“Come again?” Credence blurted out.

“Think mountain lion, but thicker. And more legs,” Percival said, running a hand through his hair. “Caught me by the ankles. I was wearing Clifton’s ‘Millenium’ welted work boots on that operation. It would have torn the ball of my foot clean off if I weren’t wearing them."

“My goodness! Are you all right?” Credence asked, nearly rising to his feet were it not for the contraptions on his toes.

“It was a long long time ago, when I was a rookie auror. I was about your age. Cocky,” Percival said, wry grin on his face.

“I tell that story to all of my customers,” Clifton said. “I made shoes for your Percival and his father before him.”

“I guess I should get those, then,” Credence said. If they helped Percival in a tight spot like that, he supposed he should be on the safe side. He looked toward Percival for approval and found it.

“I can put an order in for you. Takes about seven weeks from start to finish. You might want to get something more for everyday wear in the meantime. The ‘Milleniums’ will last you, well, a millenium, but they get awful heavy and really bring down your three-piece. Not suitable for the day-to-day.”

“How about these?” Percival placed a lighter ankle boot near them. The leather was shined to a mirror gloss. Light brogue patterns swirled on the toe and up the ankle shaft, which ran seven eyelets in length.

“I’ll try them on, sure," he murmured. Credence tried to hide his discomfort, but he knew Percival had noticed. He was unused to so much attention, the waiting on hand and foot, but once he slipped his foot into a new pair of brogues, he knew it was long overdue.

“That’s the spirit, kid.”

After trying on five more pairs—wingtips in brown and black, a pair of two-tones, a higher boot in oxblood, and a pair of monk straps—Credence settled on the ankle boots, the “Millenium” model, and a low wingtip in black.

“Well, the young man knows what he wants,” Clifton commented as his assistant fitted his new shoes on. His old shoes looked so sad in the pristine packaging. The dirt and salt from the soles soiled the light tissue paper through and through.

“What shall we do with the old ones? A bit beyond a cobbler’s care, unfortunately. They didn’t really fit in the first place, so it wouldn’t do to just restore them...”

Credence shrugged slightly. He could still feel the blisters from their constraints. Why keep them if they reminded him of yesterday?

“You can throw them away. I really don't need them anymore.” He looked down at his new ankle boots. He could nearly see his and Percival’s reflection in the glossy leather.

“The last thing to complete the ensemble is a finely worked belt. We can match the colors for you here.”

Percival’s heart raced. He watched Credence’s face, noting the of memories swell and fade away. For a moment, he wasn’t sure if Credence would collapse or flee.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he nodded slightly. They opted for a smooth black belt and a braided one, with Credence slipping on the latter for now. He watched the boy’s hands tremble as he fixed the belt. At least the soft give of the braids differed from the unyielding edges of the second belt.

He would have to be sure to let Credence spend handsomely at the grocers, once the rest of the shopping was done. 

The total came to one hundred and twentysix drognats. It was probably for the best that Credence was ignorant of their true value. He knew that such spending would be far outside of his comfort zone. His utterly destroyed shoes were evidence of that and more; oh how he smiled now. Percival carried his bags as he led Credence to the shirtmaker and tailor.

A handful ready-to-wear shirts would do for now, and the boy was limber enough to fit into a suit off the rack. They would have a formal fitting when they had something to celebrate. Perhaps once he finished his first year’s worth of studies, Percival thought.

He looked to the side. Credence was still utterly enamored with his new shoes, glancing at each mirror they passed. For the first time Percival spotted a spring in his step and a change to his posture. 

Once at the tailor's, Credence removed his jacket, readying himself to be measured. Percival subtly pulled the tailor aside, asking him to be slow and deliberate with where the measuring tape went. When asked why, Percival instructed him to mind his own damn business.

The tape measure floated over his chest and shoulders, up and down his arms and delicately around his neck while the accompanying apprentice took detailed notes. The tape moved slowly. Percival watched as Credence held his breath as the tape grazed his skin. Percival shot the tailor a glare. The tailor cleared his throat and painted on a kind, if inauthentic, smile.

“You have wonderful proportions, Mr. Barebone. Just asking to be handsomely clothed.”

“I do?” he choked out. “Thanks, I guess?”

“Imagine what you would look like in black tie attire! So elegant,” he put her finger to his lips. “Narrower lapels would be needed, certainly, but the single button low on your torso would really emphasize—”

Percival cleared his throat. “That is a little beyond our scope today. The young man is borrowing my clothing at the moment, he needs basics.”

“That explains the blousey fit. Much more suited for your broad shoulders, Mr. Graves.”

Credence followed Percival’s advice regarding colors and fit. The fabric came closer to his skin than he was used to. As he looked on in the mirror, he caught Percival’s eyes behind him, running up and down his form. He flushed and turned to face him.

“How do I look, Percival? I don't really know how it should fit, but it feels okay.”

Percival blinked twice and smiled. “Marvelous.”

There, they invested in the following: two cotton work shirts in white, four soft-collar shirts in dove-gray, light blue, white and cream, two more shirts in narrow stripes of gray and blue and a handful of undershirts. It was a bit odd to the tailor that he purchased them without a suit on hand to match with, but Percival needed no advice in regard to colors and patterns. His father, after all, had been in the public eye for decades and always emphasized the value of sharp tailoring.

The tailor summoned for them a house elf with a big brass cart. Their haul teetered as they rolled it to the suiting department, where Percival purchased—to the tune of eighty drognats—two three-piece suits in charcoal gray and navy, and a light, unlined overcoat for the spring chill. Credence rotated his arms backward and forward, shocked at his newfound flexibility.

Percival asked for a changing room and accompanied Credence inside the chamber. Slowly he undid the buttons of a new shirt and handed it to the young man behind the thick curtain. The charcoal suit followed. Percival carefully hung his old jacket and trousers, eyeing the threadbare patches.

When Credence emerged he was an absolute vision. The tips of the shoulders sloped up into subtle points. The lapels of his jacket were narrow and neat. The black ankle boots peaked elegantly beneath the cuffed hem of his trousers. The sleeves were cut into a bell-like curve.

He took the young man by both shoulders and led him over to the three-panel mirrors.

“How do you feel, my boy?”

“Like...like a whole new person,” he said, tucking a lock of hair behind his ear. “I-I never realized how confining that kid’s suit was.”

“Suit makes the man.”

“I can’t thank you enough.” He wiped his eyes as he grinned. "Truly."

“Your smile is thanks enough,” Percival said. He ran a hand under Credence's jaw and smoothed back another black lock. The barber was next.

 

* * * * *

 

The bookshelves of Goshka’s Bibliotheque towered over them in rows and rows. The cab had dropped them off at the corner of Union Square and, after traversing another secret passageway, Credence and Percival encountered an indelible maze of books and wizarding classics. Peaking behind a mountain of domestic and self-help tomes was a tiny, hand-written signs pointing to the back section.

“Ilvermorny Years,” Credence read aloud. His hair was cropped and short again. It wasn't unlike his old haircut, but more elegantly proportioned and styled, free of the rough, jagged cut of Mary Lou's shears. 

Percival took a copy of the list from Credence and began scanning the shelves, pulling books out left and right. Credence, for his part, had the list of authors memorized at that point, but the bookshop did not seem to follow a logic he could suss out.

One, two, three hefty books were placed in his wooden cart. The store was quieter than the department store had been. He found his eye wandering as Percival sought out his instructor’s copies of the textbooks.

Literally a whole new world of literature was open to him now. He felt as if he had spent more than twenty years asleep. He eyed line after line of foreign titles and names; no doubt, there were even new genres to be had. He picked a tome up and cautiously weighed it in his hands.

“‘An Honorary Title,’” he read aloud.

“I’ve read that one,” Percival said as he filled his basket, “not the most uplifting, but riveting. Didn’t take you for a reader of crime thrillers.”

“Really? What do you see me reading then?”

“Historical fiction, epics too. Might be hard without this first.” He set the last book, “Magicks of North America, a Survey and History,” on top of the formidable stack.

“We both have a lot of reading to do. Excited yet?” Percival asked, throwing an arm about Credence’s shoulders.

“You won't be able to stop me from reading ahead,” Credence said. That earned him a squeeze on the shoulder.

“A smart one, eh? Better not let your professor know. I here he’s a hard ass,” Percival chuckled.

They divided up the load and emerged from Goshka’s Bibliotheque. Already late afternoon, they decided to have a sit down at another diner. Credence ordered soup and a sandwich while Percival downed a cup of coffee followed by filled pastry. Percival tipped the no-maj woman generously, as he was wont to do.

It was good that they ate, for Credence needed to shop for groceries. After loading the books into the already stuffed magi-cab, Credence suggested a market not too far from here.

“When we had the money, Mary Lou would let me go on my own, so long as I passed out literature on the way. And so long as I didn't over spend.”

“You're sure you want to go there? I’m certain there are other markets closer to home.”

Credence nodded. “It will be nice to see Mrs. Popowski again. She always had a nicer cut of bacon for us.”

Percival looked over Credence’s shoulders. Behind him, a young no-maj couple were seated and reading new books on the park bench.

“How about this, Credence? I have a small errand to run. We can split up for now and then meet here to catch our cab back home."

Percival pulled out his wallet and pressed three five dollar bills into Credence’s hand.

“This should cover it. Can you get washroom supplies there as well?”

Credence folded the bills carefully and nodded.

“Let’s say forty minutes? I won’t be long.”

"I'll meet you back here," Credence said. He continued on his way toward the market and Percival approached the couple once Credence was out of earshot.

“Pardon me. May I ask where you purchased those books? I’m looking for a gift.”

"A stupendous new bookstore just opened up down the way," the girl shared excitedly. "The Strand."

He eagerly followed her instructions and, sure enough, he found a no-maj bookstore with stock rivaling Goshka's. Once inside, after some maneuvering on his part, he found a worker in a neat apron and curls.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for a particular work.”

“Certainly. May I have the author's name?"

"George Eliot."

 

* * * * *

 

He had fifteen whole dollars, which would be enough to stock up for weeks. Surely, Credence thought, there must be some magic that keeps food fresh. He recalled the peculiar icebox. Definitely magic at work there.

He fumbled as he pulled out his list: two pounds of bacon, pork chops, milk, eggs, butter, oil, flour, sugar, baking soda, potatoes, tomatoes, grapefruit, apples, oranges, the list went on.

For dinner that night, he had a few rich sauces he uncovered in a dusty and unused cookbook of Percival’s. Pasta and ground beef were next and, while he was at it, he decided to invest in a good bundle of herbs and spices. If they didn’t use them all Credence could dry them to use later.

His heart raced and his mouth watered as he watched the cloth sacks fill up. Those in queue behind him balked at the five dollar bills he was reluctant to let go. Never had he held so much money and, just like that, he had it spent nearly all of it to feed two people! He knew they’d go through it more quickly than he predicted. Percival so far had taken seconds at dinner.

He then wondered if wizards needed to eat more than no-majs, if their magic relied on nutrition or some other force entirely. So much to learn.

Taking a breath, he turned to the pharmaceutical counter and purchased his washroom supplies. After no small amount of hesitation, he added a fancy sounding bath soap. He didn’t know whether Percival enjoyed baths—he had only ever heard the him shower—but Credence could use it as well. 

The multitude of bags bulged under his arms, but he accommodated the weight just fine between both hands. The walk back to the square was proving trying with the early evening foot traffic. Up ahead on the sidewalk a striking clearing opened in the flow of people. He could not make out the words, but someone was shouting, calling out to the crowd.

A lone figure stood between the flowing pedestrians. As Credence approached, he saw the man, in an animated fashion, appealing to his sisters and brothers. Credence stopped in his tracks. On the pavement, under the soles of his new boots, were leaflets with lettering in flaming red text, bunched together chaotically. He knelt and picked one up.

 

_“A call to arms, brothers and sisters! Preternatural happenings in our midst! Don’t fall victim to the warlock menace! Don’t leave your family and home open to magickal intrusion!”_

 

A shadow loomed over Credence.

“I see you’ve taken a good hard look, brother.”

A pallid hand reached out to help him up. Credence jumped up and took a step back.

A middle-aged man in a patched gray suit smiled at him. Bundled beneath one arm were dozens of copies.

“Y-you’re the first one all day to have taken an interest,” the man said. "I can see it in your eyes. You know too!" He nervously glanced over his shoulder. “They’re watching us, even now.”

Credence remained silent. Scores of city-dwellers passed them by, all refusing eye-contact.

“A-at first I thought it was just rotten luck,” the man said. His eyes were wide. With what, Credence couldn’t imagine. “Lost my job. Then lost the apartment—my wife left with some fat cat. I knew there was something off about him from the start. No way he could weasel his way in without charms and mind control. ”

“Please, I-I have to meet someone, I don't have time to—”

“No, no! Don’t go. Please! I only want to help!"

The man reached out. Credence bat his hand away, pushed past him and started down a nearby shortcut. He just had to make it a few blocks away, then he and Percival could vanish, they could vanish and he wouldn't have to see the man or his leaflets again. His heart thrummed in his ears. Behind him he heard the skid of worn leather soles and heavy, manic breathing.

He kept moving forward, refusing to look back. His shoulders hunched. The straps were digging into his shoulders. His breaths came shuddering beneath the weight.

“Please, come back! You don’t know what this means to me, to have someone know what you know.”

The pamphlet, which he didn’t recall taking, crumpled under his grip.

Faces streamed by him and he found himself again on the city block in tight shoes and restricting collar which cut off his air. Hundreds of ridiculing faces passed him by. He had to give them all away or else he wouldn't eat that night. The pang of hunger wreaked havoc on his system. He held out a flier. A gloved hand bat it away. Pain in thin, searing stripes raced across his palms. He held it up to his face. The cuts bled and bled. He couldn’t soil the fliers, he couldn’t! Mary Lou, she’d kill him! She’d kill him!

His breath came in great shudders. He must have taken a wrong turn. His vision swayed. The gray bricks blended together and the windows, high above, were curtained and shut closed. He came to a clearing behind some tenements. He swung around, gasping for breath.

“Unless,” he heard the man murmur. “You know of them for a reason."

He held up his pile of leaflets his way. The red flaming letters bored into Credence’s vision.

“You have a reason to run, don’t you? Don't you?”

Credence shook his head, words caught in his throat. The man in the gray suit stepped forward.

“I knew it. You’re in league with the warlocks,” the man spat. “You’re plotting against all of New York! Making hard working people like me suffer! Making all of us suffer with your foul deeds!”

“No, no! I don’t know what you’re talking about. Let me go."

The bags fell to his side. He clutched his chest but his heart wouldn’t still. The man approached him, caging him in.

“I will sleep easy tonight! To think, I was almost fooled by you and your trickery! Playing innocent will get you nowhere.”

He lunged at Credence. He stumbled backwards, nearly careening into the trash and rubbish.

With a choked off cry he felt something spark within him. He clenched his eyes shut. In an instant, a great heat flared up before him. The man shrieked and wailed. The smell of smoke singed his nostrils.

Credence lowered his arms. Flames danced before him as the man flailed in panic.

Scattered on the breeze were ashes and cinder. The leaflets flowed around them, burning to a crisp as the man cried out. Credence clawed his way up. He couldn’t breathe or think or see.

He looked around for something, anything to douse the flames. The man was cursing in long streams, spinning about, desperately clawing at his shirt buttons.

“Credence! Get down!”

He stumbled and crouched. A jet of water burst forth over his right shoulder and the fire hissed and smoldered. 

The man was still dazed and ravenous. His words were unintelligible. Credence looked over his shoulder and there stood Percival, wand drawn. A volley of red sparks shot out, colliding with the man in gray. He crumpled to his feet.

Percival rushed forward. He tore the man’s sleeve at the shoulder and ran his hand over the bleeding and burnt skin. There was blood! Credence couldn’t stand, only watch. His feet were leaden. He couldn’t get a firm grip on anything for the trembling of his hands and fingers. He choked down air as he watched Percival work.

“ _Obliviate_.” A soft blue light emanated from the tip of his wand, filling the man’s ears.

Percival laid the man down and looked toward Credence. His eyes were filled with confusion and the bite of anger.

“What on earth happened? Do you have any idea—”

Credence shook his head back and forth. His mouth formed airless words. Percival’s brow furrowed. Credence’s eyes were wide and plagued with a hundred yard stare; his eyes darted back and forth while hands trembled to find something, anything to grasp onto. He has seen many aurors-in-training in the same state. It was brought on by many things: the shock of their first dementor, a biting curse, the chaos of mass duels. Percival carefully placed his paper bag to the side. Slowly he knelt down on his knees near the boy. He looked him in the eye, unblinking.

“My boy, can you breathe?”

Credence shook his head between gasps.

“I need you to focus just on your breathing. In and out. Very slowly. Don’t think of anything else, just the flow of your breath.”

Following his instruction, he shut his eyes for a moment, bringing his hands to his chest. The fire danced in his eyelids. He shook the image loose, letting the darkness settle in.

After a handful of deep breaths, Percival spoke again softly.

“I need you to look at me. Look at me then around you. What do you see? Name some things. Anything. Take your time.”

“A-a trash bin...windows...a-an old newspaper...tin cans...you, Mr. Graves.”

“Good, good. Now touch, what are you touching?”

Credence’s hands wandered from the buttons of his waistcoat to the cuffs of Percival’s sleeves.

“You, Mr. Graves...and cobblestone...my shirt, my new shirt," Credence sobbed. "Oh it’s ruined, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to...”

Percival shushed him. “Don’t think about that now. It’s not important.”

Credence felt his pulse dampen. He nodded. Percival leaned in closer, running the palms of his hand underneath his jaw. The boy was still in flight mode, but calming down.

“What do you hear? Name anything.”

“Cars, people walking...a girl laughing, and I hear you. I hear your voice, Mr. Graves.”

“What do you smell?”

“Cars, smoke, your cologne,” Credence said softly. He wiped his eyes and breathed in through his nose.

Percival nodded. “Okay I need you to do one last thing. Can you stand now?”

“I-I think so.”

He got to his feet with Percival’s strong grip under his arms. He felt as if his knees would buckle.

“I’ll get you home. We’ll need to be very quiet, okay?"

He flicked his wand and the man in gray skid smoothly over to the side of the alley. A new sleeve sprouted from the roughly torn seam. With another wave of his wand, the groceries gathered themselves into a neat stack and floated low to the ground behind them. He grabbed the paper sack and led Credence out of the alley.

At the far end, the yellow magi-cab rolled into view.

 

* * * * *

 

Percival seated Credence in the study on the leather couch. He looked toward the fireplace and decided against it. The lamps slowly illuminated. His eyes were red and mottled. Dirt and soot ran in dark streaks across his wool suit. His knuckles were white from gripping his knees. The wool wrinkled beneath them. He sat staring at the toes of his boots

“Wait here, Credence. I’ll take care of the bags.”

Percival shut the door behind him and began unloading the car. He cursed under his breath as he opened the trunk. Auror Goldstein had been right; anti-magic rhetoric was seething beneath them. He didn’t want to believe it, but it could not be denied.

He mentally composed an auror’s report while he unloaded the boxes of shirts and ties and shoes. He may not be on official duty, but it was his duty as a concerned citizen to report it to MACUSA. But that could wait.

For now he stacked the boxes in the spare bedroom on the second floor, which was still packed with files and reports of years of directorial work. He faithfully arranged the dry goods in the pantry and stored the perishables in their icebox. All the while, he listened for Credence, his sniffs and stray sobs. The drive calmed him a bit, but he was in no condition for a trip to Johannes Jonker's Wand Emporium. There was still grave talk to be had.

Spontaneous use of magic in a no-maj setting was not to be taken lightly. It wasn't what Percival had intended for his first lesson, but it had to be done.

At last, neat paper bag in hand, he pushed open the door to the study. Credence stood abruptly as he entered. He folded his hands in front of them. His eyes were red and lips trembling. He hung his head low, eyes cast down to the side.

Percival approached him slowly. He set the bag on a nearby bookshelf, where he had just cleared room for Credence’s supplies.

“We need to talk.”

Credence was silent.

“Are you listening?”

He nodded slowly, hands still worrying in front of him.

“I was lucky I arrived when I did. Did that man threaten to hurt you?”

Credence, with quaking grip, held out a folded piece of paper. Percival took it and red the flaming red letters.

“He knew, Percival. He knew I was...I was a wizard. He was going to tell—take me away! I didn’t mean to hurt him. I-I didn’t know what I was doing. I shut my eyes and the next thing I knew he was going up in smoke.”

“You were scared.” Percival sighed and ran his hand through his graying hair. “I’m responsible as well. I shouldn’t have left you alone. There’s still so much ugliness in the city.”

He clenched his jaw. “Credence, this incident could have gone out of control very quickly. Do you understand? The first and foremost law we wizards must follow is our law of secrecy. This is serious, Credence. You must learn control yourself or you risk endangering us all.”

Credence’s shoulders shook as he silently sobbed.

“I need you to look at me.”

Credence looked up and unbuttoned his jacket. He reached down, fingers fumbling with the buckle of his belt.

Percival’s mouth dropped open as he watched his boy, tears running down his face, undo the buckle and slowly pull off the leather belt. He curled it up slowly in his hands. Just that morning the buckle gleamed at the shoemaker’s, but the soot and dirt tarnished it. He held it out to Percival with a quivering grip.

“What are you doing? Credence...”

“I’ve done a terrible thing, Mr. Graves. I-I’ve disappointed you..put you and Ms. Tina and Mr. Scamander in terrible danger...I must be punished.”

Percival slowly reached out and took the belt. He tossed it to the side and drew himself close to Credence.

“No.”

“No?”

“I won’t do that to you. Not ever, you understand?”

His hands slowly ran up Credence’s shoulders and neck. He held his jaw gently in his hands.

“You won’t?” Credence whispered. His eyes alight, he gazed at Percival as the older man held him.

“The past is past, my precious boy. You don’t need to fear reprisal any longer. I want you to feel safe here. Please believe me.”

Credence’s hand curled around Percival’s wrists and he leaned into his grip. He hiccuped and sobbed. He pulled himself closer into Percival’s arms and tucked himself away. His chin rested on Percival’s shoulder. He wrapped his arms gently across his back and held him close.

 

* * * * *

 

They were too drained to prepare anything elaborate, just sandwiches and soup. Percival rolled up his sleeves and helped with the few dishes they created. It was already late. They stood side by side in quiet contemplation. Now and then, Percival would look over, watching Credence’s marks wrinkle in the soapy water.

“I know it wasn’t much...”

“I liked it. Nice and simple. Thank you, Credence,” Percival said as he dried the dishes. He reached over past Credence and grabbed the cutting board.

“Where did you go today while we were out?”

“I was getting something. A welcoming gift, I guess. Kind of spur of the moment.”

Credence turned to him and smiled. “You’ve already done so much for me, Percival, you didn't need to.”

"I wanted to, Credence." Percival smiled and dried his hands. “Let me show you.”

While Credence had been preparing the soup, Percival took the liberty of arranging Credence’s books and supplies on the empty shelf of his study.

The fire roared to life as they entered the study. The light on the far edge of the case blossomed, shining light on the shelf. Credence allowed himself to be led by the hand over to the case.

In a neat row were all of his primary texts and manuals, binding waiting to be worn. He ran his finger along the spines. He saw a small group of books he didn’t recognize.

“Middlemarch? I thought it was just one book.” He took the first volume out and flipped through the heavy pages.

“The nice attendant at The Strand found an old publishing in stock from England. It was published in eight volumes, though it’s all one work...I thought you might want the chance to finish it.”

He stepped forward and looked over his shoulder as he continued to flip through the pages. He could feel a smile erupt on Credence’s lips.

He grasped Credence’s shoulders and, to his surprise, a slow warm hand overcame his. Credence slowly turned toward him.

“This is too kind. I don’t really know what to say.”

“You don’t need to say anything. I wanted to.”

The warmth of the boy’s skin radiated onto his. He gripped Percival’s hand and brought it to his face.

Percival’s eyes ran across his features, his sweet lips, the high crest of his cheekbones, and his dark, inviting eyes. He licked his lips.

Still Credence moved closer, cautiously, deliberately. A lump gathered in Percival’s throat.

Soon their breaths were mingling in between the mere inches between them. Credence’s eyes, filled with attentiveness and hesitation, ran down to Percival’s mouth.

He took Credence’s jaw in both hands. Credence’s hands ran behind Percival’s back, gripping him tightly.

After one final breath, Percival closed the gap, feeling the wind rushing out of Credence. In his own clumsy way, Credence beckoned him with his lips, softly kneading the flesh and muscle of the older man’s shoulders. He let Credence's hand wander where they wished to. Goosebumps followed in the boy's wake.

His kisses were soft and exploring, warm and punctuated with tender sighs. Percival pulled back again, gazing at his boy’s reddened, flushed cheeks. Credence gazed into his eyes and wordlessly moved back in.

Percival pressed back in return, until Credence’s back was against the wall. His arms slid back and over Percival’s shoulders, bringing him in close. Percival’s hand was firmly planted on the wall above Credence’s shoulder, supporting his weight as he dived back into Credence's arms.

Beneath him, Credence moaned and sighed. Percival felt the pitter-patter of his heart as he swept his hand over Credence's chest. A sliver of wet and Credence responded twofold, opening his mouth to welcome Percival's tongue. A satisfied groan vibrated in Percival's chest and Credence mewled in reply. Sweat gathered on his brow and strands of hair fell over his forehead as they kissed.

“My boy, my sweet boy," Percival murmured between slowly drawn breaths.

Credence tugged him back by the vest and Percival eagerly reprised his affections. 

"Welcome home."

 

 

 


	5. The Oubliette

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short, plot-focused chapter on offer. I thank you all for your continued support. This is one of my most popular fics to date and reading your kind words makes it all worth it! 
> 
> As there is no Percival or Credence in this chapter, the next installment will be posted more quickly than normal. Get ready.

 

“Can you believe it?” Queenie squealed. “Me, a registered legilimens! Oooh, I’m so jazzed!”

A tiny photo of herself winked and smiled from the bottom right corner of her new identification card. Unfolded neatly on Tina’s desk was a letter from the desk Seraphina Picquery herself.

 

* * * * * 

 

_For admirable and able service I, the undersigned, present to you, Queenie Goldstein, a certificate bearing official registration and status of legilimens at the offices of The Magical Congress of the United States of America. We look forward to collaborating with you on our latest venture,_ [PROJECT REDACTED], _and to the further refinement of your natural talents._

 

* * * * * 

 

“Mama and papa would be so proud,” Tina said squeezing her sister tight.

“Oh, I know they would be,” Queenie said, carefully replacing the letter in its envelope. "They'd be so proud of both of us."

At least that was one fewer worry to burden her, Tina thought. It was common knowledge that Queenie was unregistered; now that it was official, Queenie could use her talents for the greater good. However, when one worry vacated, another usually took its place. It was just Tina's way.

Though the stone left Queenie largely unharmed, she worried what continued exposure might give rise to. On the other side of the coin, however, she knew that Queenie, with her skill and talents, was better equipped to handle the stone’s influence than many—certainly Tina herself to some extent. She just didn't want to see her enthusiasm get her hurt.

Newt knocked and poked his head in.

“We three are wanted.”

“Of course,” Tina replied. "I'll get my papers."

Queenie donned her peach jacket and followed Tina down the winding corridors out of the Auror Offices. In a tight group they delved into the depths of their headquarters, where the devoted bustle of their compatriots did not reach. They passed several checkpoints, each rimmed with imposing witches and wizards in slate gray. 

Tina didn’t bother to stow her papers after entering the judicial wards of MACUSA. Many more checkpoints would follow on their route.

They rode an elevator down several stories with a small group of officials. Each was silent, lost in contemplation of their own responsibilities. The air grew more damp and chilled as they descended in the brass elevator. Queenie buttoned her jacket. Newt tied his scarf tighter. Tina merely waited as one by one every other passenger disembarked on floors well above theirs.

Echoing granite halls met them when they at last stepped off of the elevator. Their wands were double-checked for make and model before entering MACUSA’s holding facility, The Oubliette.

This special subsection of their holding facilities was designed by French architect, Antony Martel, who had studied his craft in London. The Oubliette, as it was unofficially called, was reserved for only the most insidious, lawless, and cruel of wizarding criminals. 

Floating magical lights which dotted the long halls took the place of metal lamps. Indeed, many metals and the like were excluded from the architecture as a safeguard. No transfiguration of keys or makeshift weapons to be had here. Instead the portcullises fit together in complex stone patterns, like puzzle boxes. Special guards in black were assigned to each major doorway. Complex transfigurations were required to open and seal each and every one.

Tina readied her papers one final time as they encountered a tall, wizened man. He stood with someone she vaguely recognized. The taller man’s thick dark hair was combed to the side. He was broad, his double-breasted coat was buttoned all the way up to his thick beard.

The other man was older and dressed in a three piece checkered suit with a thick mustache and pointed shoes. Pinned to his chest was a badge giving him temporary clearance to The Oubliette.

“Porpentina Goldstein,” the taller man called out. “We have been expecting you. I am warden Ignatius Plum.”

“So this is Auror Goldstein,” the man said with a posh British accent, “I am Eugene Chadwick, representative of the Ministry of Magic. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“What is your business here?” Tina asked. 

“I am to oversee the interrogation of criminal Gellert Grindelwald. With hope, his extradition back to London will go smoothly. So far, I’m told, it has all been quite vexing. Protracted too.”

“It’s best if you see for yourself, Auror Goldstein,” Ignatius said. The man led the group through another portcullis. The granite hall, with its tall walls, widened into a circle of closed off arches numbering about two dozen. Viewing holes lined the walls, opening into each cell. 

“This, this is a panopticon! My word,” Newt said, “I had no idea MACUSA housed a prison like this...”

“The punitive ward contains some of the oldest architectural passages of our headquarters,” Warden Plum informed him. “It contains only the most ruthless of New York’s malcontents, those burdened with the charges of treason, the use barbaric curses, and the like.”

Behind walls of interlocking stone, they heard, interspersed in the darkness, haggard, hateful cries. Queenie crossed her arms and closed her eyes, shutting out thoughts most vile.

“Please, please release me!” a witch’s voice called out at the far edge of the chamber from a cell separated from all the others. “I can’t take this anymore! Please, do something, Sean!”

“I-is that Graham’s voice? What on earth?” Tina said.

“Indeed it is!” Newton said.

“But it isn’t her,” Queenie murmured. Her eyes were closed, focusing on the source of the voice. “He’s doing it again. Channeling.”

Another voice resounded within.

“What have you done with her? Speak, you bastard! With your own voice, damn you!”

Only a cruel cackle followed. Tina had never heard Graham’s voice twist and curdle so.

“Gellert Grindelwald has deigned to speak with us again—just not how we had hoped,” Warden Plum reported. They neared the far archway.

“What are you talking about? I’m right here? Can’t you see?” Graham’s voice called out again. “I’m me! I’m me, Sean!”

“We know you are behind this, Grindelwald. We have you captured and there is nowhere you can run. Release Graham and her crew, or face the dementors at Azkaban!”

Warden Plum waved his wand in a complex series of twists and the intricate granite stones curled away in succession. They revealed a thick pane of glass, which ran from floor to ceiling. Dark lines ran throughout the length of it in circles and spirals, like lead veins running through stained glass. Tina recognized some of the markings. They were meant to provide supernatural durability and to prevent tampering; very minor versions were employed up in the other interrogation chambers.

Behind the glass sat Grindelwald. The cuffs were of heavy stone and linked directly to the chair.

On the opposite side paced an auror in full uniform. At his feet were crumpled bits of parchments and splatters of ink. Grindelwald opened his mouth once more, grinning wide.

“Why won’t you believe me, Sean? I’m me! _I’m_ Annette Graham! Please! It hurts, it hurts, I can’t stand it!”

The auror wrenched off his hat and whipped it to the ground. Grindelwald’s own acrid chuckle echoed in the chamber. His eye caught Newt and Tina. He did not blink.

“So you’ve come again, eh? To test your mettle? Think you can do better than loverboy here?”

His head shot back in his seat, held tight by the force of the auror’s wand. Behind him, a passage opened and he stepped out, haltingly. His eyes were red and swollen and face gaunt for lack of sleep. His tie was loose and his sandy hair dangled down in ragged strands.

“I-I can’t do this,” he said, shuddering and straightening his tie. “I’ve been at it for fourteen hours straight. He’s an absolute madman—I can't get him to answer anything!”

Tina’s brow furrowed. She withdrew a pink handkerchief and offered it to the auror.

“Auror Mahoney, get some rest. Auror Goldstein and her advisors will take it from here,” Warden Plum said. Auror Mahoney nodded slowly, donning a wrinkled fedora and shuffling slowly away.

“Poor man,” Queenie said, watching Auror Mahoney as he trudged away. She swam in his torrential thoughts. She uncovered an image of an unworn silver wedding band, then an undisturbed velvet box resting on his nightstand. 

Ignatius beckoned the chair to come up close to the glass. The chair rose and on spindly legs walked over to the glass. Grindelwald’s white skin gave him a ghostly appearance. His eyes were no longer mismatched, Tina noticed. Instead, she recognized the hazel of Graham’s irises.

“So...the legilimens has returned. Come to sate your curiosity, have you? For treating the stone like forbidden magic, you are all so eager to tamper with it.”

Queenie crossed her arms, saying nothing in reply.

“And _you,_ ” he hissed. He eyed Newt through the glass. “I guess I have you to thank for my amenities, the man with a lot of pets and no friends.” He pulled at one stone chain and it tugged back in kind. “It’s all rather cute.”

His eyes moved to Tina, boring into her.

“The up-and-comer, the orphaned underdog straight from a Dickens’ tale, the one aligning herself to the wrong side of history. What a pity.”

“And you’re on the right side?” Tina said at last, after some study. "If plotting to incite a war is what you consider right, I'd rather be wrong."

“You and your little playgroup have merely put off the inevitable. The subjugation of the muggles will be the singular most important event in our history. The herald of a new era! Yet you still choose to protect and associate with the ants at your feet.”

“They aren’t ants!” Queenie protested. “They’re kind and imaginative and wonderful.”

“You, _of all people_ , believe that? Walking home must be quite the trial for you. Hearing the ugly things they think and the ugly memories muggles leave in their wake must take its toll. As if you need a reminder. Why, MACUSA’s own Salem Memorial is a testament to that much.”

“We display it to remind ourselves not to repeat the past, Grindelwald,” Tina asserted. "Perhaps you ought to spend more time with it."

“As if a statue could do anything on its own. _I_ chose to act, _I_ unlocked the stone for the good of us all. _I_ will be honored among wizarding kind.”

“You speak of inevitability, yet continue to delay your extradition,” Representative Chadwick interjected. He gave a pointed look to Tina. "Cooperate and your suffering will dissipate that much sooner. The stone's mysteries will keep you safe for only so long."

“And what a mystery it is,” Newt said, rifling through his papers. “My colleagues at Durmstrang have furnished me with some papers on the subject. Fascinating stuff.”

“My Alma Mater? I am surprised one as jumpy as you would associate with the so-called ‘dark’ wizards.”

“We are both learning men,” Newt said, glancing toward Tina. “Delving into places unknown is what we do. It would be foolish to exclude even Durmstrang’s pool of resources, given the circumstances.”

Queenie shut her eyes, focusing on Grindelwald. He was a strong wizard, but weakened by the confinement. Before long, she received an image.  She saw towering bookshelves in the cavernous halls of Durmstrang. Students in black weaved between them, sharing secrets and lore in furtive whispers. Grindelwald was among them, hair like wheat, studying with insatiable hunger. Where was the stone? What tome spilled its secrets? She tried to get answers.

“The pet shop owner has a point, I suppose. I have long studied the stone and other lore at the Durmstrang Institute. Unlike your paltry Hogwarts and Ilvermorny, we did not restrict ourselves—no tome was prohibited, no knowledge precluded. We did not cut off our own right hands for the sake of diplomacy,” Grindelwald said, grimacing in disgust.

“No, you sacrificed something else altogether,” Tina said.

Grindelwald chuckled. “You think you’re all outsmarting me by getting me to boast. All right, I’ll play along, but she won't like it.” Of its own accord, the chair surged closer to the glass. Ignatius raised his wand in defense, quelling Grindelwald’s sudden surge of energy.

Queenie squinted and winced. The trample of hooves, choruses of screams and the roar of fire and battle resounded in her mind. Rounded wooden lodges burned for her, blood splashed and spilled on snow and soil. Great jets of flame erupted from swords. She nearly cried out.

“You see it don’t you, legilimens? The Wild Hunt!”

Queenie held her head, but remained focused, silencing her whimpering. Imposing wizards in furs and leathers shouted in tongues unknown to her. Great stag horns were silhouetted against the blaze. The cries died down, replaced with roars of victory and triumph.

“I do recall stories of those...hunts,” Newt said, rifling through his papers. “Brutal times...shows of power.”

Queenie’s head began pounding. There, in the sky, high above tundra and snow galloped a heard of warring wizards, staves and crooked wands cutting down men, women, and children left and right. Her hands trembled as she struggled to maintain her grip on Grindelwald’s train of thought.

Representative Chadwick loosened his tie, watching them eagerly.

“Glorious times,” Grindelwald started. “Tribes of stalwart warriors would call upon their ancestors directly from the stone, invoking the awe-inspiring powers of their bloodlines! Only the most worthy would enter its halls—Valhalla, they called it! To be included among their number was the greatest honor one could ever receive. They would sweep across the tundra, cutting down muggle clans one by one, claiming what was rightfully theirs in feats of strength and glory.”

“And where have they all gone? Where?” Tina asked, stepping close to the glass. “Your time of glory is nowhere to be seen. My sister reports that the stone was barren and void, save for Percival Graves’ quarters.”

Grindelwald scowled. “Giants, too, sleep. And after my inevitable escape of your paltry authorities, I will restore it to its former luster. That is all you need know. We are done.”

He opened his mouth in a twisted, gaping smile. His eyes widened. Pouring out were the collected cries and wails of Annette Graham and her assistants, which echoed through the panopticon, rattling the lamps. Tina covered her ears. Newt looked on in awe-struck astonishment. With a wave of Warden Plum’s wand, the granite stones collected themselves, covering the window and insulating Grindelwald’s deafening cry.

Representative Chadwick dabbed at his brow with a handkerchief and straightened his tie.

“What a right mess this all is,” he muttered. “An absolute scandal.”

“I think that went well,” Newt said. “Bit of a loudmouth, really.”

Tina fetched a glass and procured some water. Queenie gulped it down, saying she needed to sit down and sort out her visions.

“Well? Well? It is downright foolish to keep him here any longer. It is all merely dim-witted ploy for President Picquery to save face.”

“It is not. The lives of our colleagues are at stake, Representative Chadwick,” Tina said. “Without Grindelwald, we don't have many options.”

“And so you keep him _and_ the artifact on the premises? Preposterous! Four lives in exchange for possible exposure? War?”

“Representative Chadwick isn’t wrong,” Warden Plum said, “It may be worth it to separate the two before any more harm can be done.”

“Finally, a word of sense! If your Director of Magical Security were half as competent as Picquery posits, he never would have succumbed to Grindelwald’s influence in the first place!”

“Don’t speak ill of Mr. Graves,” Queenie said quietly from her seat. “If he were any less able, the stone’s power would have consumed him whole.”

Chadwick ran a comb through his hair and tugged at the hem of his jacket. “I will be writing to my superiors. This chicanery must be stopped at once!”

Representative Chadwick turned on his heels, accompanied by another auror out of The Oubliette. The three fell silent.

“Do you think he’ll do it? I don’t know what we can accomplish if Grindelwald is extradited,” Newt said.

Tina shook her head. “So long as American Citizens are kept hostage by him, his case won’t pass easily. But we don't have much time.”

“We may have another lead,” Queenie said, supporting herself on the table as she stood. “Grindelwald likes himself some shady books. I can give you some of the titles, Newt. Maybe your contacts can get ahold of them for us?”

Newt stepped over and gave Queenie a big hug. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!”

Tina watched Queenie smile. She could tell dark things bore heavily on her; her eyes lost part of their warm glow, her face was pallid and worn. Tina fretted. Who knew what prolonged intrusion on Grindelwald’s thoughts would bring to pass? She wished her parents were here to provide the two of them some comfort. 

They gathered themselves and began on their long journey back to the surface. Still more work lay ahead of them; Credence's first check-up was quickly approaching. She knew Credence was in good hands, but she could not account for his late blooming. She had magic surrounding her all of her life, but Credence did not have that advantage. However, if she, the underdog, could rise up to the rank of auror under Percival's shrewd guidance, she had faith that he could work magic with Credence as well. 

 

 


	6. Johannes Jonker's Wand Emporium

 

Another nightmare had come for him in the night. One moment, Credence's thumb was on his cheek, and the next he was burning in the dark. Grindelwald's cackle filled the air like the roar of a forest fire. Percival waded through the void, suffocating in the depths, calling out Credence's name, withering. Waking in a cold sweat, he found Credence over him, eyes wide, and whispering his name. 

"Percival! Percival, I'm here!"

He felt nothing but embarrassment. A grown wizard panting and writhing in his sleep, forcing one so near to endure it. So undignified. This was to be Credence’s day, damn it.

Percival had woken early that morning, already dressed and coiffed. He was on his third cup of coffee. He had slept for about five hours—he had gotten by with much less.

During his routine he couldn’t stop thinking about that night. Had it been Credence's first kiss? It had been so long since he had felt the brush of another’s lips against his own. Percival’s walls were high. He wasn’t given to romance; there simply hadn’t been time. At least that is what he told himself. Look at them now.

The intervening days had been spent supervising Credence’s studies in the quiet of their shared study. He was to begin with history first, which required no wand, only curiosity. Percival was wholly content to watch Credence read. He loaned him his jasper and silver fountain pen. Credence chose to sit on a cushion at the foot of Percival’s armchair, texts splayed out before him, while Percival ran his hands through his hair. He answered questions as they arose; his first forays into magical history, after all, needed some filling in: cues and concepts, people and places.

He had been responsible for the training of MACUSA’s league of aurors, but still he found more satisfaction in guiding Credence. And it was only the beginning.

He gazed on the expanse of the master bedroom. His parents had passed years ago, leaving him the property. How many lonesome nights had he spent here without companionship? He supposed he and Credence had that urge in common. Percival, too, was surprised the first time his hand had caressed the boy’s skin. The alley as cold and damp. It only seemed natural, like comforting a shying dog.

No, that wasn’t it, not entirely. He had needed it too—the touch.

Before long it became a pattern. What began as an investigation into the obscurial’s presence became a private rescue mission, one without briefings or papers or missives. He felt that the boy lived for his caresses and soon after Percival lived to give them.

He drew the curtain and sat on the edge of the bed. Credence’s slumbering had grown less fitful as the nights wore on. He wished he could return the favor. Despite his disruptive nightmares, Percival eventually dropped the idea of clearing out his childhood bedroom entirely. This was their bedroom now, unspoken though it was.

Running a hand through Credence’s hair, he bid him good morning. Credence blinked awake, still clothed in Percival’s nightshirt. He sleepily followed Percival’s hand.

“It’s the big day,” Percival said. “Get dressed.”

“You must be eager too,” he yawned. “Did you manage to get back to sleep?”

“Yes.”

He rose and retrieved a shirt and tie from the full armoire. He stood near as Credence shrugged off the striped nightshirt, taking in the sight. Credence allowed himself to be dressed, as they had been doing. He patiently watching the older man’s hands working from the bottom button up. They barely kept at arm’s length now.

“We should get going,” he said breathlessly.

“We can take something to eat for the trip. We have bread and jam. Should be plenty."

Once outside, they were met with a beautiful spring morning. There was no need for overcoats or woolen scarves. Credence thought it was refreshing. For so long he had only seen Percival in heavy cashmere coats and numerous layers. He couldn’t resist the sight of him in his smart suit and hat. The silvery grey suited him splendidly. As they passed the tall windows of Broadway, he took in their reflection. What a sight.

“Can we walk through the park? The weather’s nice,” Credence asked.

“If we maintain a brisk pace,” Percival said, letting himself be led. “We do have an appointment to keep.”

They set out on a path that Credence knew bisected Central Park. It was rare that he and his sisters got to visit here. Seeing the plants beginning to bud resonated with him.

Once they were well out of earshot, Credence drew himself closer to Percival.

“I was reading about wands. A long chapter was devoted to the history of wands and wand usage,” Credence said. “I think I know what kind I might like.”

“It doesn’t quite work that way. Wands have a will of their own. It’s better to let them have a say. It is a partnership, after all.”

He looked toward Credence. He could tell he was eager to share his findings. 

“But go on. I’m curious.”

“Well, none of the wand woods meant for dueling and battling really appeal to me. I doubt I would appeal to them either, the yew or aspen or oak ones. And, well, you know me, Percival, I'm not too keen on inflicting injury.”

“I can see that.” Percival’s pulled him closer as they walked past the budding trees. “It is helpful to know where you stand on those issues. A wand will appreciate that as well, the clear intent. What else have you thought about?”

“Maybe willow,” Credence said. “Healing and charms seem most suited to me.”

“We will have to see when we begin your hands-on studies. You might be surprised at your aptitudes.”

“What make of wand do you have, Percival? Or...is that too personal a question?”

Percival cocked an eyebrow. “It can be, depending on who you ask. In the UK, one's wand make is less of public record. Here in the states we register our wands with MACUSA, as you know. Though for famous witches and wizards it’s a difficult secret to keep. Imitation runs rampant.”

He led Credence to a cobbled path near a pond. He checked once, then again. Satisfied, he pulled out his wand. Credence wanted to touch it, to feel the smooth wood under his fingers. Around the handle, in a shining wreath was inlaid mother of pearl and at the handle’s end was cap in gleaming silver.

“Rowan wood,” Percival said.

“Known for protective charms, right?”

“The very same. My line of work can be unpredictable—a wealth of dueling charms is vital. This wand has served me faithfully for many years.”

“Something to rely on,” Credence said. “To think, for such a long time, I didn’t even know what that felt like. Living with Mary Lou...the only thing I could rely on was her firm hand. But...I think I know how that feels now, having a partner.”

His words nearly knocked the wind from Percival’s chest. He couldn’t have put it better himself.

“And soon you’ll have a wand your own, as well,” Percival said. Credence beamed.

"You must have a lot of imitators as well."

 

* * * * *

 

The shop itself was unassuming, though from the masonry, Credence could tell the building was quite old. It had a stolid, ancient air about it, more so from the arcane secrets contained within than any bit of architecture, however.

To be included in its history, no, even standing before this place Credence felt humbled and small. Before he could adopt his familiar, meek lurch, Percival righted him and led him to the door.

“No need to be shy, now. You belong here as much as any wizard,” a warm voice beckoned from within.

“Johannes, you’re here," Percival called.

He pushed through the heavy wooden door. Before them stretched ornate cabinets filled with tiny drawers, like the card catalogs at the library. Each was labeled at the end—red oak, maple, pine, spruce, the list ran on and on. Emerging from behind such a shelf was a stout but sophisticated man in an ivory shirt. A purple apron was pinned to his waist and his sleeves were rolled up above strong, meaty hands. His face was ruddy and kind, eyes gleaming with a worldliness Credence couldn’t quite place.

Percival marched ahead of him and took Johannes Jonker’s hand in a firm handshake.

“How was the Appalachian trail? Any good finds?”

“Always a treasured find to be had there, Percival. Found a good number of imbued trees. A good showing at that.” He leaned to the side, sizing up Credence. “I take it this is the young man in want of a wand.”

“C-Credence Barebone, sir,” he said, hand held out before him. “It’s an honor.”

The man’s grip was sure and callused. Credence could tell he worked much with his hands, crafting the great wealth of wands that stretched before them.

“The pleasure’s all mine. We missed you the other day, Percival. I was looking forward to meeting your new friend here.” He leaned in close and in a low whisper lacking subtlety and hush he added, “The man could use some companionship, let’s be honest.”

Credence blushed and nodded. Both the shoemaker, Clifton, and Johannes seemed to like Percival well enough, what could he mean by that?

“Now,” Johannes said, clapping his hands together, “Percival tells me you are late to the game, as it were. Tell me, what do you know of wandlore?”

“Only what I’ve been reading in my first year history text. I—I was separated from my birth parents at a young age. I only know my mother was a witch. I hardly remember them at all. I'm working on catching up...”

“Now don’t fret, my boy. It is never too late to learn,” Percival said, wrapping an arm about Credence’s shoulder. “Johannes, maybe you could talk him through the process.”

Johannes stepped forward, examining Credence with a keen eye. Credence could tell he was being sized up, so he stood up straight, chin up.

“First and foremost, Credence, what you must remember is this: a wand is no mere tool or convenience. They feel, they sense, they _know_ what drives you, what scares you, and what thrills you. More than that, it shares some of these desires. You do not merely _own_ a wand, the wand is a partner, a relationship in need of tending.”

He reached into his leather holster and retrieved his own wand. It measured about ten inches in length, and was a handsome maple.

“I purchased this most loyal wand when I was but a wee one. It has served me faithfully for nearly fifty years.”

Mr. Jonker’s wand was unlike Percival’s. It’s shape was simple and without ornamentation, save for a thin silver band about the handle. It was thick and stolid, as if bolstered by its many adventures. Credence hoped his wand could eventually boast of such a history.

“But, first thing’s first, let’s get your hands on a wand.” He swept his arm out to the left, where the small drawers were neatly arrayed.

“Just...any wand, Mr. Jonker?”

“Go with your instincts,” Percival said, leading him over to the cabinets. He smiled gently when Credence looked to him for guidance. “Try not to read the labels.”

“How will I know if it’s the one?”

“Just grab one and give it a wave, for heaven’s sake!” Johannes chuckled. He had his wand at the ready, which made Credence nervous.

He closed his eyes and reached out, unlatching a box blindly. The wand’s handle was smooth to the touch and surprisingly cool to the touch. With great care he pulled out his first wand. It was on the shorter side, it’s hue ashen, bordering on lavender.

A quick swish of the wand and...nothing. He opened one eye, glancing at the tip. In an instant, a deafening crack rushed through the shop, followed a pathetic blue puff of smoke.

“Hrmhh, quite a bit off the mark that one,” Mr. Jonker said. “Shelve that one. You don’t strike me as the bombastic type, Credence.”

Nodding, he placed the wand back inside. He trailed his hand several columns over and unlatched a second box. This wand was longer and of a dark, sensuous wood. Cooler to the touch, but weightier. Several diamond shape inlays dotted the handle.

Credence watched this time as he waved it. Freezing, cloudy water erupted from the tip. Johannes waved his wand in response, encapsulating the water and letting it slowly evaporate into steam.

“Had we a gentle stream of crystal clear water, we might’ve made some major headway, but it’s a step,” Johannes said, jotting down notes with a fountain pen at his station.

Percival was ready for Credence to hesitate, but was surprised to see the young man reach immediately for a third wand, invigorated by the exercise. This wand was slender and elegant, with carved rivulets of pearl running down the handle, which was a tawny hue.

Credence clenched his jaw. He gave it a wave. Carnations erupted from the tip in shades of green and blue. He nearly leapt for joy. The flowers at his feet, however, quickly wilted where they lay, giving off a foul odor. Percival laid a firm hand on his shoulder.

“That’s a good sign. What make was that, Johannes?”

“Hazel with wampus cat core, nine and three-quarter inches. Indeed, we are making some progress now.”

He walked over to another section of his shop. After some quiet thought, he reached for a compartment in the very top row.

He held it in both hands. It was warm to the touch, and it seemed to vibrate under his grip, though he didn’t see the wand tremble or move. At the hilt of the handle were two rings of silver in an octagonal shape, with stripes of mother of pearl running vertically between them. The wood was light and almost bore a rosy pink in the undertones. He didn’t want to let it go.

Trembling, he waved the wand where he stood. Nothing. His shoulders slumped. So much for progress.

A moment later, Percival beckoned him back over. Laying at his feet were the bundles of carnations, restored to their former luster, beads of glistening dew shining in the low light. Credence knelt to gather the flowers.

“Fir, wampus cat hair core, eleven inches even,” Mr. Jonker hummed. “Wands of fir wood favor those of purpose and survivors. Like the trees they are derived from, they stand the test of time and weather the elements. I thought that might be the case. You have that look about you—some earned resolve.”

The tingling ran up Credence’s arm. It was warm and pleasant, familiar even. He couldn’t stop staring at it. He ran his hand up the smooth length in awe. Before he knew it, golden sparks shimmered from the tip. Johannes smiled wide, pleased at his success.

“Now, do you have your documentation, young man?”

He snapped to. “Yes, of course, Mr. Jonker.” He reached into his satchel and pulled out his MACUSA stamped papers. Mr. Jonker looked them over carefully and pulled out the requisite wand permit application for Credence to sign and date.

“Now, Percival has already paid the fee for the wand.” He whistled and a pigeon dutifully answered his call. He attached the forms and they were off. “You can consider yourself officially paired, young man. Congratulations! May your wand serve you as favorably as mine and Percival’s.”

“Thank you for the private consultation, Johannes,” Percival said, grasping his hand in a firm shake.

Credence whipped around on his toes, wand still in hand, and squeezed Percival tightly against his chest. His breath came in hitches and starts.

“Thank you, Percival. I’ll never be able to repay you.” He wiped his eyes and pressed a chaste kiss to Percival’s cheek.

“No need, my boy. No need.”

 

* * * * *

 

With a crack, they were home. Credence had already done away with the box. He stood in the parlor, gazing at his new companion.

“Are you ready to get started?” Percival asked, removing his jacket.

“Already?” Credence said, smile brimming.

“Grab your charms textbook and get changed into your work clothes. It is time I show you my personal pride and joy of the Graves Estate.”

Credence flew up to the study to his bookcase and yanked his charms textbook off the shelf, then dashed upstairs to change. He met Percival on the first floor landing. With a quiet incantation, a seam appeared in the dark wooden boards beneath them. Percival pulled a hidden handle, revealing a secret staircase.

Percival flicked his wand and a light grew at the tip. He took two steps down, guiding Credence with his free hand. Lining the staircase were framed charts and graphs, which lined the wall on the bottom landing. He recognized Percival’s name on several of them.

Small fires blinked into being inside the lanterns. The room was massive, perhaps bigger than the whole house’s footprint. The ceiling was higher than Credence had expected. The walls were red brick and variously marred with burn marks and cracks.

Near an alcove, which was chock full of more charts and graphs, was a small photograph. He picked up the dark frame. Inside it stood two figures. Percival couldn’t have been older than twenty five and next to him was a dour, dignified man with white streaks running throughout his hairline. In Percival’s hands was a certificate bearing his name and title.

“Auror Graves...”

Credence stepped back in to the main chamber and walked toward a group of stuffed figures near the far side.

“You train here, don’t you?”

“My father and I spent a lot of time preparing down here, in preparation for my auror aptitude tests. Hexes, jinxes, charms, counterspells, wards, these dummies have seen it all.”

Percival walked over to an expansive closet and retrieved a modest wooden box. Inside was a stack of small round discs in gray ceramic. Credence reached in and tested the weight in its hand. Percival took a second one and placed it and the box on the floor at their feet.

“We are to begin with the most elementary of charms—levitation. Turn to page twenty-three, Credence, and read the introduction to the levitation charm.”

Credence did so, pulling up a small stool. Percival excused himself to grab more supplies from the closet. Credence sped through the introduction and the detailed entry. Seemed simple enough. He remembered things floating left and right as the witches and wizards went about their daily life. It was better than having another hand, Credence thought.

When he was finished, Percival returned with another box and three wooden stands. He arranged six discs in one row two meters in front of them. He had removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves, though he still looked impeccable.

“Now,” he said, withdrawing his own wand, “there are three principles a young wizard must employ for successful spellcasting: technique, clarity, and intent. You and your wand communicate on many levels, but without these three principles to guide us, we would be little better off than if we were waving around flaming twigs.”

He raised his wand and beckoned Credence to stand beside him.

“Repeat after me with my exact enunciation. _Wingardium leviosa_.”

“ _Wingardium leviosa_ ,” Credence said.

Percival held out his wand. He made a small downward arc punctuated by a small tapping motion. “ _Wingardium leviosa._ ”

The six discs floated upwards in steady unison. He guided them left and right in simple motions then lowered them again.

“Concentrate on one disc. Create a mental image of what you want the disc to do—how quick, how forceful, how high or low. Close your eyes and imagine it for a moment.”

He did so. He imagined it floating up slowly, rotating once, and descending at the same speed.

“Open your eyes and focus, then wave your wand as the manual instructed.”

Credence made an arc and flicked. “ _Wingardium leviosa._ ”

The disc shot backwards in a forceful arc, flying past the shelves and brick, smashing into pieces at the far wall.

Credence jumped and covered his mouth. He looked to Percival in shock. The pieces settled and the room fell silent.

“W-what’d I do?”

Percival just smiled and scratched his chin. He waved his wand and the pieces of the disc travelled back to them, reforming into its previous state.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “A lot of first years can’t even manage a faint quiver, let alone force like that, Credence.” He pulled out a black and white feather from another box. “At Ilvermorny, we all practiced on these.”

“I think I snapped too hard at the end,” Credence said.

“I think so too. Let me show you,” Percival said. He approached Credence from behind and stood close. He spread his legs and Credence followed suit. He felt Percival’s warm breath on his jaw. His heart raced as Percival’s hand gently held his wrist. With Percival’s hand guiding his, he made the prescribed gesture three more times.

“Now, on your own,” Percival said, letting go and stepping away.

He repeated the gesture.

“Now incant once more.”

“ _Wingardium leviosa,_ ” Credence said. The center disc began trembling. He focused on his mental image. The disc then began to float in a constant, fluid motion. It floated up toward the ceiling. Credence lowered his wand slowly and the disc followed its tip back down.

Percival clapped and smiled softly. Credence looked over his shoulder, smiling wide. He couldn’t believe it. It floated at his command, with his very own wand to guide it. The disc then plummeted, shattering on the floor.

Credence looked back in horror. He crouched down and picked at the pieces. Percival’s shadow loomed over him. He too crouched, hand running over Credence’s shoulders in consolation.

“This will be an interesting exercise,” Percival chuckled. “Typical students work on building up their power, but we will have to take a different approach with you. You don’t know your own strength, it seems.”

“I’ll need to control it better,” Credence said. “I have to, I don’t know, dam it all up. Let it out little by little.”

Percival tapped the disc and it again remolded itself, cracks disappearing just like that.

“It’s a good sign, though. Johannes tells me fir wands resonate with strength of purpose. Its responses to your incantations are enthusiastic, to say the least.”

Credence shot up. He rolled up his sleeves, eyeing the row of discs on the floor.

“Then I won’t let my wand down,” he said. “Show me again, Percival. This whole house will be floating by the time we’re through.”

Percival cracked his knuckles. “There’s that purpose. Now again, Credence.”

 

* * * * *

 

His charms book was open at the dinner table, propped up against Percival’s pewter beer stein. Credence had laid out a neat nest of pasta for the two of them—pesto and roasted chicken. Percival had seconds. Downstairs, the ceramic discs were stacked one on top of the other, and the wooden columns downstairs decorated with new splintering cracks.

Already, Credence was through with the first chapter on charms of kinetic movement. Now there was just to practice and refine them all. Percival knew Credence was of considerable innate power, but seeing him in action proved exhilarating. They had worked up quite a sweat. Percival knew he should have changed as well.

“We will have to catch up with your reading,” Percival said as Credence crossed into the second chapter. “The next section builds on the first. Why don’t you set that aside?”

“We can continue now, if you want,” Credence said. Without meaning to, he yawned. He didn’t realize how worn out he was until he sat to eat.

“It’s been a long day. It’s almost half past eight. You’ll need to rest a bit before we continue. Run yourself a bath. I’ll clean up here.”

He nodded and grazed Percival’s arms as he slid by. Once the dishes were finished, Percival climbed the stairs. The tub’s faucet was running. Credence called out to him. The bathroom door was open but a crack. Inside Percival could see his clothes neatly hung on the hooks near the door.

“Can you get my book for me? I want to get started on it.”

Percival pushed the door open inches wider. He felt his face flush. “Which one? You have so many.”

“George Eliot. I just want something recreational. I’m pretty tired, come to think of it.”

He flicked his wand and the first volume appeared in his hand from the study. He pushed the door open wider. The light was soft and glinted off the metal feet of the clawed tub.

When he entered, the curtain was drawn half-way. Credence reclined in the steaming water, which came up to his collarbone. He had a washcloth folded over his eyes, so Percival stole the moment to admire Credence’s form, though he did not look behind the curtain.

“You look pretty worn out, my boy. Let me read to you.”

Credence nodded. “It’s the first volume, right?”

“The very one.”

“I’d like that. Read to me, Percival.”

Percival seated himself on a stool near the tub. He unbuttoned his collar and began reading.

“‘ _Miss Brooke had that kind of beauty which seems to be thrown into relief by poor dress. Her hand and wrist were so finely formed that she could wear sleeves not less bare of style than those in which the Blessed Virgin appeared to Italian painters; and her profile as well as her stature and bearing seemed to gain more dignity from her plain garments..._ ’”

Credence breathed sighed out his stresses and weariness and concentrated on the words. Percival was an able speaker, no doubt from the multitude of speeches and meetings as director. He just liked to hear the man speak.

He read to him for some time, getting through chapter two when Credence began to stir. When he rose to wash himself, Percival kept to his duty, describing Miss Brooke’s strength of purpose, her naive but earnest pursuit of knowledge and of the just treatment of her tenants. The water and soap glistened on Credence’s skin, making it hard to keep a handle on Eliot’s flowing words.

Even through the florid prose, Percival could scarcely think of anything but Credence’s touches the other night; how brave the young man had been, how eager. Credence’s lips on his—he couldn’t shake the sensation. His pulse quickened and he felt his insides coil in feverish anticipation. He readjusted the front of his trousers, crossing his legs the other direction.

“Can you get my back?” Credence asked quietly. He leaned forward and the washcloth dropped into the water. For a moment, Percival could spot the flush of flesh below the surface.

Without a word, Percival grabbed a cloth and swept it gently across Credence’s back and shoulders, watching the soapy water glide down, down into the frothy cover. Percival knew what lay below. He knew he was getting hard, but didn’t move to conceal it.

Credence turned to face him. The bathwater clung to his lashes like fresh dew. Percival’s cloth swept around his front, caressing the boy’s jaw. The water had cooled, yet a flush ran from the boy’s cheeks down his chest like flower petals on wet brick.

“Is that good?” Percival asked. “Do you like that?”

He moaned contentedly. Without saying a word, Credence’s eyes ran up and down Percival’s body. His eyes lingered where his legs met.

He took Percival’s wrist in his hand and waited.

“Come closer.”

The book had been long discarded, but he made sure it was dry as he knelt down at the tub’s side. With his other hand, he caressed his boy’s cheek. Credence moaned and leaned into his touch. He reached out, pushing the curtain away.

Reciprocating and building upon the other’s small urges, they guided his hand. It slid down from his jaw, met with the hum of Credence’s pulse, and down his chest. As it reached the surface of the water, Percival stopped.

"We can take this further...if you'll have me, Credence."

“Yes...yes.”

He leaned in and Credence closed the gap once more. His kisses were graceless and passionate and Percival followed suit. He felt the water spill over the sides as Credence rose to meet him.

They caught their breaths.

“But not in here. The water is getting a little too cold.” He reached back and felt for his blue robe. “Let’s get you dried off. And comfortable.”

Credence nodded. He pulled the stopper and let the water drain. He moved to stand, but, seized by sudden shyness, he asked for the robe. Percival met him in the hall once he was covered, and together they ascended the stairs.

Safely tucked away in Percival’s master bedroom, Percival ran another towel over Credence’s head and shoulders. The lights were low and the early spring night balmy.

“Why me?” Credence asked. “Why did you choose me?”

“I'm not sure what you mean.”

“After Tina left, you stayed. You visited me at the church—again and again. Why? You could’ve gotten someone else to investigate the...thing inside of me. Why did you stay instead?”

Percival didn’t know how to answer.

“I’m sorry. It’s a strange question,” Credence said. “Today—it’s been one of the best days of my life. I know I've been here with you for some time, but it's the first time that all of this felt real, that I'm an apprentice and that you're my teacher...I guess I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“Don’t be silly. I would never hurt you Credence, you know that.”

“I’m not being silly,” Credence said. “It’s how I feel, Percival. It’s how I always feel. I can’t shake the fear free, not fully. Whenever I would sneak away to meet you...well, the good feelings never lasted long. I was so unused to smiling, my cheeks were sore after. Do you know how it felt to realize that, Percival? To know your life has been filled with so much hurt that it was an exertion to smile?”

Credence clutched the collar of his robe, bringing it close. The familiar hunch began to appear. Before it could manifest fully, Percival was at his side, running his hands over his shoulders.

“I'm sorry, Credence. I didn't mean it that way. Besides, I should be one to talk,” Percival sighed. “Still can’t shake those damn nightmares. I'm supposed to guide and support you...and there are things I can't shake either.”

“It’s okay...We both have some forgetting to do, I suppose,” he said quietly. “I just need to hear you say it. For me?”

“Of course, Credence.” Percival smiled softly, taking the boy’s chin in hand. “I care for you. Deeply. I came back for you because I didn’t want to see you fall through the cracks, to have your potential squandered and your kindness wasted on those who didn’t deserve it. These past few months, you’re all I’ve been able to think about. Even when I thought I’d lost you forever, you were on my mind. Thinking that my aurors—the very witches and wizards I’d trained myself—had cut you down was too much to bear, Credence. I've never felt such betrayal, even while locked away in the stone.”

Credence breathed a sigh of relief. He let the words wash over him as Percival’s hands did. Credence leaned and tucked himself in Percival's chest. 

“Can I show you, Credence?” Percival said, heart racing. “I want nothing more than to make you happy. We can explore it together, this thing of ours.”

“Now you’re being silly. Look at you. You must have had them lined up around the block. It's hard to believe a man like you carried on alone.”

“My magical ability and my social graces aren’t on par, I’m afraid,” Percival chuckled. 

“You could never disappoint me, Percival. You’re the strongest man I know.”

Credence, face red and warm to the touch, allowed Percival to lead him to the armchair. He beckoned him to sit. Credence reclined in the armchair, swimming in Percival’s robe. Slowly, he got to his knees at the boy’s feet.

He took his ankle in hand and lifted his foot. Percival laid a line of kisses running up his ankle to his knee, to his thigh as if in worship. Credence breathed softly, watching him in a haze. He could see firmness beneath his robe, but he wouldn’t go there. Not yet.

Percival rose to his feet. He leaned over him. Credence craved for his shadow to envelop him whole. His broad shoulders were silhouetted against the crimson, dying light. His kisses ran from Credence’s mouth to his jaw, while his hands crept beneath his blue robe, feeling the skin beneath. He felt a leg hook around the back of his thighs as he worked. His breath was sweet and low on his throat.

Both hands rose upwards, pushing the robe off of Credence’s milky shoulders. The air would be cold against his skin, were it not for the expansive strokes of Percival's hands. They spread across his skin, warming him, mapping every inch. Percival nipped at his throat, earning small yearning groans from beneath him, and leaving rosy marks in his wake like a trail of rose petals left for Credence to follow.

The robe parted more, revealing Credence’s chest, like a sliver of the moon behind the clouds. He laid kisses at each shoulder then slowly down his chest, taking him in like a fine delicacy, breathing in the boy's smell, the sweet and tang. Credence could only shudder and whimper, music to Percival's ears.

As he got lower and the faint trail of hair gathered beneath Credence’s navel he looked up.

“I want to touch you. See you. All of you.”

Credence looked down and ran his fingers through the salt and pepper of Percival’s hair.

“Take it off, take it all off,” Credence whispered urgently.

Percival’s hands slowly guided his arms and the robe fell away entirely. He leaned back to admire the boy’s lean figure, the pertness of his nipples, the elegant lines of his hipbones, and the skin that he had marked, as if his dark and Credence's light had begun to bleed into one another. The idea that his teeth had grazed his skin was too much, but still he laid his claim.

Then he saw it, Credence’s swelling manhood. He leaned forward, working slowly from the base, lapping eagerly and inexpertly with his tongue, savoring him. Credence whimpered and moaned above him. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the armrests. His hips jut forward, seeking out the wet of Percival's tongue. Percival’s hands shot up and grasped him by the hips, then moved down to his inner knees, spreading them slowly. 

He moved closer. His breath was hot on the most sensitive of skin. He tasted sweet and salt as Credence muttered sweet nothings which ran into rivers of sugar. He felt the boys hands wrap around the nape of his neck, guiding the older man's mouth up and down, wherever he pleased.

His eyes darted up. Credence was wrecked, face red, breaths coming in deep, lips swollen from biting. His hands ran ceaselessly though Percival’s hair. His eyes were focused solely on the sight of his Percival Graves.

He teased the tip of Credence with his tongue. His toes curled as he watched Percival take him in. His mouth opened wide, and took him as deep as he was able.

“O-oh, Percival! My—oh my god!” 

Percival groaned around Credence’s girth. He bobbed up and down, reveling in his taste, the feel of it on his tongue, the obstruction of his breath. He pulled back to gather his bearings. He took the base in one hand and gave him long, ponderous strokes, Credence whimpering in time with his movements. Percival basked in Credence's sensory ruin. Oh how he quivered beneath his touch, whimpering for more, daring Percival to give him more, please.

He took a deep breath and began his forays once more. Credence was beyond words and only swaying movement, drunk with passion. Percival felt a shudder on his tongue, and doubled his movements. Credence responded in time, like the tide dancing with the moon's pull. Percival's rhythm quickened and soon Credence was unable to focus on the delectable sight of Percival's sway. Soon it all bled together.

With one last swipe of the tongue, Credence erupted. Percival swallowed it down, letting no drop spill. He would have him.

Percival caressed him through the aftershocks and the slurred words. Percival wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Oh my boy, my sweet boy,” Percival said as he rose. Credence wrapped both legs around his hips and pulled him closer, gasping between each and every kiss and lunge.

Soon Percival felt hands vigorously pulling at his trousers. Credence’s hands worked the button and zipper and soon he found his trousers about his knees. He had leaked through his undergarments.

“I want to try. Please let me try.”

“Anything you want,” Percival growled. "Anything."

Credence pulled himself up and coaxed Percival into the armchair. He pulled down the front of his undergarments, gasping at Percival’s turgid length. He dived in, lapping at the tip while he worked the rest with his hands. Credence stood and swung Percival around. He pushed him gently back and slid to his knees .

His hair hung in messy strands as he sucked him down. Percival clutched the back of Credence’s neck, guiding him up and down, up and down. The boy was completely flushed and eyes red from the exertion. He wiped a tear of exertion from Credence's cheek. He couldn't tear his eyes away. Credence shared the gaze as he slid beneath it, running his tongue from the head to the base. Quick learner.

“That’s it, Credence. Do that again.”

Credence complied eagerly, smiling when Percival groaned in reply. He took a breath and tried to take the man's length down.

Percival could handle it no longer. The sight of Credence on his knees with the last rays of daylight dancing on his skin was too delectable, too enticing. He pulled Credence up to his lap, kissing him urgently while Credence’s hands worked him up and down, gliding on his own slick. Percival hummed roughly as he climaxed into Credence’s hands, tongue darting in and out of the boy's mouth. He pulled back, gasping for air as the carnal pleasure darted through him like a lightning bolt. Credence collapsed on top of him in the arm chair, one hand wrapped around the man’s shoulders while the other caressed Percival's cock.

“Percival...” Credence hummed. “That was...wow."

He pulled him tighter, wanting to feel the man's chest against his own. Percival had no words, but everything to offer. He pulled Credence again into a soft kiss. He cleared the sweaty strands from Credence's eyes. 

 

* * * * *

 

“How long have you been alone? This house is so big. It’s weird to think of you here all alone."

The two were in bed after a shared bath. Credence absent-mindedly stroked Percival's bare chest, making stripes on the man's skin.

“Quite some time, I’m afraid. My dalliances rarely got as far as the bedroom. There have been a couple witches and wizards here and there. Not many. They always said I was too cold. They weren’t wrong. Intimacy doesn’t come naturally to me.”

“I’d never know it.” He felt Credence squeeze his hand in the dark. “But your parents...you’re nearly twice my age, but you’re not old by any means...”

“Thanks,” Percival chuckled.

Credence leaned up on one elbow. “I mean...your parents...when did they...or _did_ they…?”

“They passed away shortly after my thirty-second birthday. Not terribly long ago, in the big scheme of things...”

“We don’t have to talk about it,” Credence said, shying back. “I-It’s none of my business.”

“No, that’s not true. You have every right to know.” He closed the gap. “It doesn’t hurt any more, if that’s what you're afraid of,” Percival sighed. “I’ve done my mourning. ”

Credence drew closer in the dark, tucking himself in Percival’s arms under the embroidered covers. “What were they like? They seem like they were nice. Supportive.”

“They were...diligent, hard-working. A little cool, but not excessively so. They always pushed me to do my best. Ever since I was a young boy, they set the bar high, then higher. I was more than content to surpass their standards. They always said I was destined to lead MACUSA’s faction of aurors. If they could see me now...”

“Tina told me you come from bloodline of important and powerful wizards. While I was reading I ran into a name: Gondulphus Graves. Are you related to him?”

“My great-great-great grandfather. He was one of the original aurors of the Magical Congress. My family maintained something of a legacy. Nothing so stuffy and rigid, though, at least as far as _my_ parents were concerned.”

“Why did you become director, then? You could have pursued a lot of careers—I mean, you're you. Sounds like a legacy at work to me.”

Percival drew him closer yet. “You’re not wrong. To uphold our laws and enforce them is an important duty, and we Graves do so in our various fields. As for my directorial position, it is work that needs doing, and I happen to be the most qualified. Though, I suppose my pedigree helped, if I’m going to be honest with myself.”

“So you do have family. Do they ever visit you here? We could host a dinner party.”

“...It’s complicated. My grandfather, Eugene, was a bit...prodigious when it came to having kids, so I have many cousins as a result. No siblings, though.”

“I always wanted brothers and sisters. Chastity and I never saw eye-to-eye. Modesty was kind when it mattered, but it was hard fostering any relations with Mary Lou breathing down our necks...what about you?”

“After hearing about my father’s childhood with my aunts and uncles, I was thankful to be an only child, frankly. He was something of a black sheep, my father. While my aunts and uncles were more interested our family name, he was more concerned with upholding the standards that came with it.”

“Still, your cousins must be proud. My history text says magical security and law gets a lot of renown. Rightfully so, from what I've read.”

“I don’t speak to them and they don’t speak to me. Too much bad blood.”

“Why on Earth don’t you speak to them? They’re your family, Percival. I’d give almost anything to see my real family, even if we didn’t get along.”

“Because when there’s a tacit legacy to live up to, those who do not make the cut are quick to give into anger and breed envy. It’s an ugly impulse, but one I’ve decided to suffer no longer. My work gives me enough to think about, let alone the petty grumbles of my cousins.”

“I see...I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded,” Credence said after a pause.

“No, it’s quite alright. Again, you have a right to know.”

He stroked Credence’s hair. He didn’t begrudge him. His curiosity was only natural, especially after tonight’s intimacies. They lay in the quiet for some time, content to feel the other’s warmth and the soft vibrations of their hearts.

“I wish I could have known them. My parents, that is.” He felt Credence’s breath hitch. “I don’t even know their names. Or what they look like.”

“What do you know about them? Anything at all?”

“I know my mother was a witch. Mary Lou used to lodge that at me as a grave slur, but I believe her—still do. The hate in her eyes. You saw it, Percival. You can’t fake that. She always said that my mother died in a fire of her own making. What she meant by that, I never found out.”

Credence pulled up the covers, enveloping his head.

“Guess I never will now,” he said somberly.

He held Credence closer, holding him tight for the sparse, silent tears to follow. As Credence’s shoulders shuddered in the still of the night, he thought of Mary Lou and her painful legacy.

“Your birth certificate was lost in a fire too, right? We don’t really know your exact age—or even your birth name. Do you ever wonder what might’ve been?”

“Too many times to count," said Credence, wiping his eyes. “Doesn’t really matter now. There’s no bringing them back. I’m Credence Barebone and...I’m a wizard now and I have the best tutor one can ask for. What's past is past, right?”

He held out his arm, as if to see the potent magic pulsing in his veins. Percival turned toward him, running his fingers up the length and grasping Credence’s hand.

“Come, you’re tired. Let’s sleep in, get our strength up. Then we’ll work through two lessons tomorrow, how does that sound?”

“Magnificent,” Credence murmured. “Got to stop making the practice targets fly across the room, though.”

 

* * * * *

 

His writing desk stretched out before him. Fresh parchment lay white and fresh, his silver and jasper fountain pen at the ready. Credence was downstairs, preparing for their next session.

While getting dressed that morning he debated the idea thoroughly. His dear Credence had his fair share of troubles, why not relieve him of one? Closure would ultimately do him some good, he reasoned. If he had fewer reasons to linger on the past, perhaps that would assist in his learning. If nothing else, it might put his mind at ease, at least on one matter. Or was that only what he wanted to believe?

On the other hand, was it really his place to pursue this truth? Any way it turned out, the knowledge would be grim. No denying that. Who knew how that would weigh upon Credence? How would that affect the obscurus presence that lingered yet within him?

He fought with himself for the better part of an hour, but there remained only one way to be certain, and so he dipped his fountain pen in the well and at last got to work.

 

* * * * *  

 

_Dear Officer Leonard Graves,_

 

_I hope this letter finds you well. I trust that your work at the New York Police Department is fulfilling and enriching. I recently had the pleasure of reading of your undercover successes at my directorial desk. No doubt you have read of my administrative leave in the papers, and of the ensuing scandal that presently plagues President Picquery. I am sure it will dissipate in due time. She is nothing if not patient and astute. However this is not my reason for writing. Another, more personal thought motivates my pen._

_I’ve recently taken a pupil in the ways of magic. I am pleased to call him a deep friend and faithful companion, whom I treasure greatly. This is how my mother would have put it, I feel. As a confirmed bachelor among the Graves family, I need not go into further detail here. I’m certain you understand._

_You must have much on your plate. Spring gives rise to hot blood and adventurous moods, and dealing with the illicit outbursts is part your duty. However, I write to ask of you a favor. I realize I’ve no right to call upon you due to our mutual agreement, but I can think of no other in a more favorable position to assist me in my endeavor._

_My companion’s status as a wizard became known to him only recently—quite the discovery at the age of twenty-one. His ability is nascent, but flourishes by the day. Though his eagerness to learn nearly eclipses my own at his age, he is burdened by a tragic mystery, which I feel compelled to address…._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smuttiness ensues in the following manifestations: frottage, exchanged oral sex, touchy-feeling, and swallowing. You've been warned.


	7. The Suitcase of Newt Scamander

Constant training and intense study filled the following weeks. Charms and transfiguration had caught Credence’s imagination the most; tiny mice shifted into bourbon glasses and back again, swatches of Percival’s linens glowed in vibrant greens, reds, and blues, and lush flowers sprouted from dry, lifeless twigs.

Herbology and potions fell by the wayside, though neither intended it. Being a man of Manhattan, Percival had never truly been in touch with nature. At Ilvermorny, he much preferred combative, wand-based magic weaving. He decided that he would search for a suitable tutor. He did not want his own deficiencies to stifle Credence’s rounded education.

Credence continued to cook, delighting Percival night after night. For his part, Percival cleaned and helped him with the shopping. Credence began teaching him the ways of the kitchen, breakfast dishes primarily. Percival never shied away from pancakes in the evening. This way, he could accomplish something substantial if Credence happened to be away, though he never planned on being away from Percival for long. The idea of finding a new house elf never entered his thoughts. Gladys deserved a nice, long retirement.

Percival had also rearranged their bedroom, installing a second armoire for Credence’s personal effects. Of course, their wardrobes weren’t so separate; Percival could never resist seeing his shirts hanging off of Credence’s shoulders. The reading nook on the third floor was littered with Credence's personal library

And finally, in the dark and quiet of the night, they explored one another carnally. Percival ran his capable hands over every inch of Credence’s figure, luxuriating in the soft, pleased moans that erupted under his fingertips. It was music to Percival's ears. Credence always returned the favor, his soft palms running up and down Percival’s length, his eyes rapt with Percival’s lean figure and the familiar musk of his skin after a long day of training.

And rigorous the training hall was. They perfected a handful of spells for his upcoming evaluation with Newt and Tina. Credence marked their calendar with thick check marks, eagerly waiting to prove himself. Percival knew they would make them proud. He had a precocious student after all.

 

* * * * *

 

That afternoon Newt and Tina decided to take the train uptown. When they emerged near the illustrious gates of Columbia University, they took in the finer details of the grand architecture of its campus: the gargoyles, the Roman columns, and the forum.

She was glad that Percival called this neighborhood home. It was nothing like her part of town, nor the constant bustle of the streets near MACUSA's offices. The chance for Credence to study in peace and quiet brought her relief.

As they walked down Riverside Park, Newt spotted the Graves Estate. Even without the static of magic clinging to the property, it had a certain regal charge to it, as many sites of historical importance did; the Graves family was nothing if not laden with history. She couldn’t help but grin as they approached. It appeared Percival’s taste for the dramatic also ran in the family. Were he himself transfigured into a house, no doubt he would look exactly like this.

“Hard to imagine him residing here all on his own,” Newt commented. “Do you think he has many guests?”

“I’ve never been on the list myself. I hear his dinner parties are quite lavish. Lots of courses. President Picquery probably visits from time to time. They graduated the same year from Ilvermorny, so they go way back. He was never really the social butterfly, though. Haven’t seen him at an office party in some time.”

“He does seem a bit…dedicated to his work. Solitude is probably in his nature. It wouldn’t do to make him over-socialize, I suppose. Why, I recall when I was afield with the spiny crocowaks in Brazil. I was curious to see what their pack mentality was like. Learned the hard way that they can’t stand one another. Very territorial and very moody, those crocowaks.”

“I thought we were here to check-up on Credence, not Percival."

“We are here for him too, in a way. Need to make certain that this arrangement suits him as well.”

A story up, Credence watched for them eagerly from the miniature rose window at the end of the corridor, breath fogging the stained glass and hands wringing his wand. Percival was nearby in the study.

After carefully selecting his tie and shirt, Percival sat with the morning paper. He was greeted by odious remarks from the op-ed column. He saw a photo of himself, gaunt and barren, eyes shifting and startling, utterly disarrayed. It must have been taken shortly after his release from that damned stone of Grindelwald’s. He read bitterly.

 

_…Only with President Picquery's dismissal of Director Graves can we build a foundation of trust once more. Her continued defense of his character, one which tacitly contributed to the infiltration of MACUSA's highest offices, is nothing short of nepotism. And it is all rooted in her desire to legitimize her own short-sightedness._

_A representative from the Ministry of Magic, Eugene Chadwick, has penned an open letter to President Picquery, pointing out her continued obstruction of justice. And this wizard agrees; Grindelwald needs to face the Ministry’s courts_ , not _the limbo of bureaucratic imprisonment. She too is stuck in limbo, making few movements against the ever-present anti-magical sentiment plaguing New York City's streets. While Director Graves is laboring on his classified project, we continue to suffer the ineptitude of his interim replacement, with no public itinerary of his return. What we need is a new administration with clear vision and a sense of responsibility. We cannot continue to stumble with unpreparedness. Now is the time to act!_

“Percival? Is everything alright?" Credence stood in the doorway, clutching the doorframe.

He curtly folded the paper and set it aside, out of Credence’s view.

“Just the news, as always. Nothing you need to worry about, my boy.”

“Can I ask you something, Percival?”

“Of course.”

“What will happen if I’m…if I don’t do well enough? Will they put me somewhere else? I don’t want to leave you or this house or…”

Percival rose and cupped Credence’s jaw. His pulse quickened under his touch.

“You’re going to knock it out of the park, Credence. We’re already a third through your first-year charms book and we haven’t been at it for that long. I think Newt and Tina will be very pleased with your progress.”

He laid a chaste kiss on the young man’s lips, savoring him. A quick knock at the door and they sprung into action. Credence nodded and rushed downstairs to meet them.

“Credence! You’re looking well!” Newt exclaimed. He took the young man’s hand and gave it a good shake.

“Can I have a hug, Credence?” Tina asked.

He nodded and embraced them both in the front hall.

“Please, let me show you the parlor,” Credence said. "Right this way."

The luxurious furnishings were a lot to take in for Tina. The walls were covered with a silver and gray diamond wallpaper and capped with dark wooden moldings. A group of finely upholstered chairs were arranged about a coffee table with clawed feet. In the corner stood a grandfather clock. On closer inspection, two hands pointed to the word “home,” one with Credence’s silhouette and another with Percival’s.

Newt set down his leather suitcase and examined the photos and various magical trinkets that littered the shelves.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Credence offered, tray already in hand. “We have cookies as well.”

“Tea would be lovely.”

“Thank you. I’ll have coffee. Black, please” Tina added.

Credence left the room and the small fireplace roared to life abruptly. Percival entered then, in a smart light gray double-breasted suit. He clutched rolled up newspaper, and, after tossing it wordlessly into the fire, he shook both of their hands.

“I think you two are in for quite the show,” Percival said as he seated himself. "He's been working hard."

“Oh, we can’t wait for your demonstraiton,” Newt said, as Credence served them. He rested his hand on Percival’s shoulder as he leaned over to add cream and sugar to Percival’s cup.

“May I see your wand, Credence?” Tina asked. Queenie had already shown her his registration form—nearly jumped for joy when the form graced her desk—but she wanted to see the definite article for herself.

“Fir, is that right?” Tina asked, examining the finer details.

“Yes. We had an appointment with Mr. Jonker personally. He was a great help,” Credence said, doling out the sugar cookies.

“How’d you manage that?” Tina asked.

“I called in a favor,” Percival said simply.

Newt began rummaging around in his suit case, pulling out a handful of rumpled papers. He waved his wand and they straightened themselves out. It was a list of criteria against which to judge Credence’s progress. On another sheet was a list of unfamiliar parameters to assess the status of the obscurus.

After tea and coffee, Newt unlatched his suitcase and opened it wide on the floor of the parlor.

“We will need to get a read on the obscurus before your demonstration, Credence.” He stepped into the case and began descending. Credence’s eyes widened as Newt disappeared entirely inside.

“Now, now, it is quite safe,” he called from within.

Tina followed and Percival guided Credence by the hand. Feet firmly on the ground, he gasped as he took in his surroundings. Snow blustered in one corner while in another a bright desert sun glistened on red sands. Thick tropical foliage dripped with dew while a temperate mountain stream stretched on beside it.

“H-how on Earth…?” Credence gasped.

“Many years of study and many, many charms and transfigurations.”

Newt pulled on a pair of rubber boots and trudged through the snow. He waved them over and they followed. Percival covered his half-brogues in a protective, warming barrier. Luckily Credence wore his Millenium work boots that day.

He stopped when they reached a clearing. He turned to Credence, speaking in a near whisper.

“As in all things, Credence, I believe the most important thing a witch or wizard can do is understand. For me that involves the careful study of potentially dangerous and frightening creatures.”

“Like moody spiny crocowaks,” Tina added.

“Right. Now, many witches and wizards fear, no, abhor the entity that resides within you.”

Credence drew into himself, wrapping his arms about his chest. Percival was there to comfort him, loaning him his silk scarf.

“But fear can be dissipated with a little care and tenderness, Credence. I want to show you what you are harboring, and what a little understanding can do. Come.”

They followed him into the clearing. At its edge, curling and pulsing in the dark of the winter night, was the obscurus. Its smoky tendrils wound through the eaves of a nearby pine tree, as if caressing its prickly spines.

Newt lifted a handful of snow and tipped his wand toward it. The mounds glowed and buzzed and suddenly bright yellow firebugs darted into the icy air.

Credence clutched Percival’s arm as the tendrils emerged from the tree boughs. It oozed forth, floating placidly inside of an ensorcelled bubble. It glided down on an unseen breeze toward the lightning bugs. Newt coaxed it closer, bringing in the bugs and allowing the obscurus to follow.

“It is attracted to magical energies. While it's inside of a witch or wizard, it feeds there. On the outside, freshly cast spells catch its interest, I’ve found.”

The tendrils slowly enveloped the dancing lightning bugs. As the lights blinked out one by one, little lumps of snow fell from the center of the dark mass.

“What does it eat?” Credence asked quietly.

“It doesn’t quite eat the way you and I do. It sustains itself on magical energy, absorbing it. You see, when your great magical potential was buried deep inside of you, it came into existence, like a lion to a deep spring. Out here in the open, however, it is largely harmless. I've slept down here entirely undisturbed by it.”

Percival gazed upon the wisp. He held Credence tighter. How destructive these entities could be. From the confines of the stone, he had witnessed the massive disruptive energy of Credence’s obscurus, swirling in sparking, painful waves of destructive force. He would give his right hand to prevent that from happening again.

“You said you wanted to prevent other young witches and wizards from succumbing to this force. Can you see any other utility beyond that?” Percival asked pointedly.

“We have much to learn about obscurus possession, but it has many other properties as well that can be used in magical medicine. It swallows up magical energy like nothing I’ve ever seen. We can potentially use its powers of negation to lift curses, undo hexes, de-petrify basilisk victims, demystify artifacts…there’s no telling what a boon this can be.”

Credence slowly removed himself from Percival’s arms and stepped forward. He stared into the dark mass, which hovered contentedly above the snowy clearing. If his time with the New Salemites had taught him anything, it was how to read hate. He sensed no malice here, just a creature vastly misunderstood.

“If it can really help people…then we should get on with my check-up,” Credence offered quietly.

“That’s the spirit, Credence,” Tina said.

Newt and Tina nodded, leading him to the small wooden hut which stood at the crux of the magical habitats. He seated Credence inside, with Percival and Tina attending.

Retrieving all sorts of magical instruments, Newt got to work. He began with the mundane: his blood pressure, the rhythm of his heartbeat and breathing, height and weight. Then he moved on to the magi-spectrometer, attaching the rubber nodes to Credence’s temples and recording the numbers on the dial. The magical stethoscope recorded the small obscurus’ powers of negation—how hungry it was and how forceful it could be.

“You’ve been working a lot of magic,” Newt reported. “The obscurus is weakening quite appreciably.”

“Is that good?” Credence asked.

“If we can catch it right before it expires, then we can extract it safely, I believe.”

“Believe or know, Mr. Scamander. Do you have any previous experience in extracting it?” Percival asked.

Newt sighed.

“He does,” Tina interjected. “He wouldn't have volunteered if Credence's safety were at risk, right Newt?”

He nodded and silently continued his work. The full weight of these risks was hitting Percival like a bombardment spell. Seeing Credence bravely face these unknowns, however, gave him some comfort.

* * * * *

For his first demonstration, Percival had Credence uncover the hidden trapdoor in the front hall.

 _“Revelio,”_ Credence said, outlining the door’s seams with the tip of his wand.

The wood recessed into the floor, and a small metal latch emerged from the grain. They descended the steps. Tina gazed upon the soft smiles of Percival’s younger self in the photos. This other man was his father. She had read about him during her auror orientation and training. He was dour, with a thick moustache and monocle, hair coiffed and perfect. Beside the photos, she spotted scorch marks and cracks in the brick. If these walls could talk, she thought.

Once they were settled in, Tina pulled out her clipboard and her own report forms. Nothing would be left out.

“We will start with the elementary charms and transfigurations. If you please, Credence,” Tina said, wetting her pen with the tip of her tongue.

“R-right.”

Percival dragged out the trunk and the ceramic disks.

“Just like we practiced yesterday. No need to be nervous.”

He took a deep breath and readied his wand.

 _“Wingardium leviosa!”_ he incanted. One by one, the disks floated up, making small loops in the air as the followed a complex path about the vast training hall. At the end of their journey, a few disks trembled, but Credence managed to keep them upright.

“Splendid!” Newt said.

“Now for a little flair,” Percival said. He retrieved three wooden rods. Credence had them stand upright, and the disks balanced atop one another, spinning on the rods. He held the wand with both hands, focusing on the mental image, renewing the swooping motion of the charm as needed. After a minute of sustained manipulation, he guided them gently to the floor and wiped his brow.

Percival tossed him a twig.

Credence held it tightly in one hand and raised his wand.

 _“Orchideous,”_ Credence said. Sprouting from the ends of the twigs were vibrant rosy orchids, fresh and aromatic. He looked to Percival who cracked a proud smile. Tina was rapidly taking notes and Newt jostled on his stool.

 _“Colovaria.”_ The rose-colored petals turned a sensuous, dark blue. He trotted over to Tina and offered her the dark flowers.

“That’s so sweet,” she said. “Now, for more advanced transfig.”

“Yes, yes,” Credence said. Percival emerged from the storage closet with a small cage. A tiny mouse squeaked inside. He removed the lid and Credence pointed wand inside. He tapped it three times and incanted, _“Vera verto!”_

The mouse squeaked and blurred, remolding into a small water glass. He delicately extracted it and handed it to Tina. When it was in her hand, Credence tapped his wand on the edge.

 _“Aguamenti,”_ he said. A small stream of crystal clear water filled the glass to the brim.

 _“Lumos,”_ she said. The tip of her wand glowed and she shone it through the water. A clump mouse hair yet lingered in the water, but otherwise it was a very capable transfiguration. Even if the mouse were caught halfway she would have given him credit. This progress was astounding.

He placed the water goblet on the ground and tapped it again. Fur crept over the glass and rampant squeaking called out. The water spilled over and the goblet was no more, replaced again by the mouse, who was soaked. Percival levitated it back into the box, feeding it some rough grains before drying and stowing it.

“Now, for a more complicated exercise,” he said.

Credence nodded. Percival held a rubber ball in one hand some meters across from him. “Knock this from my hand, Credence.”

Credence licked his lips and adopted the duelist’s pose. He jabbed his wand outward.

 _“Expelliarmus!”_ A darting blue bolt issued from his wand, knocking the rubber ball to the far back wall with force.

Newt clapped while Tina’s jaw dropped.

“Percival, this is quite advanced…and at such a fast rate. Jeez-louise.”

“Newt said it himself, didn’t he? Only a powerful wizard could quell an obscurus for as long as Credence did. Take that as a compliment, my boy. Now, get the ball back to me without touching it.”

“Okay.” He took a deep breath in. Last time he attempted this, he got quite the welt on his shoulder, but what was magic without a little risk?

 _“Accio,”_ he incanted. The ball vibrated in the corner and shot up unexpectedly. It whizzed through the air and before it could again grace Credence with another bruise he flicked his wand up and out. _“Depulso!”_

The ball turned on a dime and shot back toward Percival, who caught it in one firm grip.

Newt erupted with applause and shot up from his stool. “That’s the stuff, Credence!”

Credence turned and gave a small, halting bow toward his audience. Percival clapped him on the shoulder.

Tina stood and removed her scarf and hat. "I want to try something. Has Percival begun training you in defensive magic?" A few boxes yet remained to be filled. She was to cast some spells of her own, without his tutor's intrusion.

"A few anti-hexes. The shielding charm I can't quite get a grasp on yet," he said, wand in both hands. 

"If you will step aside, Percival," she said. He begrudgingly agreed, though he kept his wand at the ready should Credence need assistance. 

"I'll hold back, but try to deflect my stupefying spell," Tina said. "Are you ready?"

He nodded and adopted the duelist's pose. She telegraphed her wand movements, giving him a chance to assess.

 _"Stupefy,"_ she said.

She made a circle and jabbed her wand outwards and rush of searing red sparks darted across the hall. Credence arced his arm, making a large upward arc with his wand.

_"Protego!"_

He nearly caught it in time; half the sparks slighted off his invisible force and smashed against the brick. The other mass connected, sending Credence to the floor. Percival and Tina rushed over.

"I'm so sorry, Credence! I didn't mean to come at you that hard!"

"Can you stand? Are you hurt?"

Credence took a deep breath and began chuckling. He held his side as he steadied himself on Percival's shoulder. 

"Think that was my best attempt, yet. Don't you think so, Percival?"

 

* * * * *

 

Seated once more in Newt’s workshop couldn’t help but glance toward the shrouded, snowy corner. He spotted the obscurus, lingering, though paying them little mind. He was thoroughly spent after his demonstration. He wasn’t certain if he could cast anything after going through his drills with Percival. Tina had them all sign the forms and, in a blink of an eye, they seemed to disapparate as soon as the envelope was sealed.

The cold stethoscope was pressed to his bare chest. Newt listened carefully with eyes closed. He breathed in and out when instructed. When told to raise his wand, he procured a small bit of light at the tip.

“Just as I hypothesized,” he mused to himself. “The magical activity is making the obscurus weary as well. It seems its habitat is shrinking. Very interesting…”

“Will the operation hurt?”

Newt shook his head. “It cannot be rushed, that much is certain, but it should not be overly taxing for you now that the obscurus is depleted. The last obscurus I extracted was nowhere near as weak as yours. It was tough endeavor. None of us were ready. At least now I have the benefit of some…experience, let's say.”

He glanced over Credence's shoulder, gazing into the dark mist. Newt's eyes clouded over with memory as he silently recorded his readings from the magi-spectrometer.

“Seems you and Percival are getting on quite famously,” Newt said simply as he stowed his equipment. He merely desired to change the subject.

“I never want it to end.”

“Who says it has to?” Newt said, cocking a curious eyebrow. “Believe you me, there are always new things to learn about magic. Besides, you don’t plan on moving, and Percival seems perfectly content with your staying.”

“T-thank you. It's comforting to hear someone say so.”

“I don’t think Percival would ever ask you to leave. The man would miss you dearly. Doesn’t take an auror to detect that.”

“I’m sorry. I’m still getting used to it—the solid footing. If I didn’t have Percival, I don’t know what would have become of me. Back when I was living with Mary Lou the only thing that would keep me going was hope that things would change. Hope that she’d change, or that...I’d be rescued. It’s kind of silly, I know.”

“I don’t think that’s silly at all. Hope is what’s propelling this little project of ours. I hope to help people by learning from your obscurus, Tina hopes that you’ll learn the ways of magic by living here, and Percival...he hopes that you’ll be happy here.”

"And I hope for all those things," Credence said. "And to please Percival, any way I can."

"So long as you don't forget yourself in the process, Credence," Newt reminded him.

* * * * *

“Seeing you and Credence reminded me of my days as a rookie. I recognize that training regimen anywhere.”

“Glad to hear it. The Ilvermorny model of teaching never really appealed to me. Too static and rigid. One lesson a day, day in and day out? Not for Credence. Dynamism is what he needs.”

He reclined in his armchair as he read a copy of Tina’s report while she perused his family’s vast library, lingering when she encountered Credence's textbooks. In the leather-bound notebook beside them were pages of painstaking notes written in a small hand.

“He’s responding well to his new surroundings, to say the least,” she said. In the evening light she saw Percival's soft, private smile. It was so unlike his usual demeanor—dark, ponderous, a bit aloof even when he was entrenched in his work.

“How is life at MACUSA? I have my reports from President Picquery’s office, but letters can only communicate so much.”

“It’s hectic. Some would call it oppressive, what with the new security measures. President Picquery’s receiving some backlash on the Grindelwald case. Some would say she’s obstructing justice. Everyone's talking about it. And about you, director.”

“I see. How is Grindelwald faring? Is he enjoying The Oubliette? No doubt they put him there. He must be cause for some tension.”

“I can’t prove it right now, but I know he’s plotting something. We had a legilimens go and get a read on him. She gave us some book titles that might help with the stone and Annette Graham, but I think it’s a wild goose chase. Nothing’s come of them yet. No doubt he's planted falsehoods before. Bastard's tricky.”

“I read Chadwick’s open letter. He would ship off our only key to unlocking that damned stone for some political renown. Disgraceful. The days I spent in that stone…well, I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else. MACUSA needs every lead it can get to release her and her crew. I know Seraphina will come through. She’s made of tough stuff.”

She looked at Percival for some time. The gauntness was gone from his cheeks—no doubt thanks to Credence’s talent in the kitchen. He was still reserved, but relaxed, like a placid sea, still somewhat inscrutable but calming nevertheless. The way he and Credence kept within arm's reach had not escaped her attention. Their every glance lingered with knowing intimacy. No longer was Credence humbled and hunched and no longer was Percival cold and stormy. 

He deserved this comfort after his many years as director, she thought. The battles he fought would have retired lesser wizards and scarred others.

“It may be a bit forward, but can I say something?”

Percival hummed from behind her notes.

“I just wanted to say that you look well. It looks like this arrangement is doing you some good as well. You and Credence…you really care about each other, don’t you?”

“You’ve read the transcript then. From my interrogation with Seraphina.”

“She suggested that I read them. I wanted as much information as possible. If Credence was to live here, I wanted to know what you went through…in captivity, I mean. If you needed time to recover, if providing a stable environment wasn't in the cards, I needed to know. No offense.”

“None taken. I know how diligent you are as an auror. I know you’ve agreed to evaluate our arrangement as impartially as possible and with as much detail as possible. If it will put your mind at ease, I'll set things straight. It’s true what I said during my interrogation—about Credence. I want everything for him. I can’t give back what was taken from him, but I can do my best. If he had died in that subway station, I...I don’t know where I’d be now. It’s not the most productive thought, but thinking on what could have happened keeps me humbled. Motivated.”

“That’s your job, isn’t it? To think of the worst scenarios. I can relate. It’s hard to turn off sometimes.”

“It’s a habit, learned and reinforced. Before your investigation into Mary Lou, I had already gotten used to the idea of living the solitary life. After my parents passed away I…I had my work, and it was work that I knew was indispensable. But my meetings with Credence...I don't know, woke something up. Something I thought I had put to sleep long ago was staring me right in the face. I mean listen to me, I’m sounding more and more like one of his books by the day.”

“It's obvious you care, Percival. Doesn’t take a magizoologist to see that,” Tina said with a warm smile.

He ran his hand through his hair. She still stood by Credence’s bookcase, marveling at his growing collection; to think of the cost Percival was undertaking to build it. She supposed with his salary, he could afford to be generous with him. Love makes you do weird things, she thought.

“You know what I agreed to the other day?” she asked.

"Tell me.”

“A camping trip,” she snorted. “After all is said and done with the extraction, Newt and I are going camping. I haven’t been camping in my life! It’s pricey, you know. When my sis and I were younger we just didn’t have the time or money to, but, here I am, a city girl trekking into the woods with the biggest nature-egghead of this decade.”

“You can take the wizard out of the city, but you can’t take the city out of the wizard, am I right?” Percival said.

He felt Credence’s hand on his shoulder and he rose to meet him.

“How was the evaluation, Credence? Were his theories holding up?”

He nodded. “Newt thinks we’re getting close. It’s all thanks to you.”

“Nonsense. I have a good pupil.”

“I was thinking, Percival. It is getting pretty late. We still have that small rack of lamb. Can have Tina and Newt over for supper?”

“How does that sound?” Percival asked Tina. “Fancy a little dinner party?”

“That sounds so good,” Tina said.

With that they were all swept into action. Newt and Percival set the table, with Percival constantly reminding him proper layout of the silverware and plates. He decided on the good ivory table linen, provided Newt was extra cautious pouring the wine.

“This no-maj weaver moved to California some time ago, so I’ll trust that you won’t stain it, Mr. Scamander,” he said with a healthy dose of forboding overtures.

“Don’t fret. If I can tame a grizzlesnout, I can keep this linen clean.”

Tina, for her part, did her best to keep up with Credence in the kitchen. He was peeling and slicing potatoes for the mash while she drizzled oil over the asparagus. She was amazed at their walk-in pantry. It was nearly the size of her bedroom.

“We’ll have to have celebration once the operation’s done,” she said. “I don’t know how you go through all of this food with only two in the household.”

“He likes his dinners. Percival must have conjured up a second stomach at some point. Can a wizard do that?”

“I’ve heard of weirder things happening. It’s entirely possible,” Tina chuckled.

And, as the spring sun finally dipped below the skyline of New Jersey, they were all seated and served, Newt gesturing with his wine glass and Percival sweeping the droplets away from his linens in midair.

Percival’s palm rested comfortably on his knee and, in the moments between case stories and tales of beasts immense and tiny, Credence felt a familiar, faint sensation, one he had not experienced in some time. A sense of family.

 

* * * * *  

Credence emerged from the washroom pristine and clean. Percival took care to wash between his buttocks, fingers tenderly brushing him inside and out.  

“I want to reward you,” Percival said between heady breaths. “I’m proud of you, my boy. You did really well.”

Credence’s bare back was pressed against the bed post. He moaned and whimpered between tongue-laden kisses. Percival worked down, gnawing at his jaw and throat, feeling the goosebumps as they tingled on his skin. Percival loved leaving his mark on his skin, and Credence loved stroking them in the mirror the next morning.

He tugged clumsily at the hem of Percival’s shirt and pulled it over his head. His hands ran of their own accord up and down Percival’s firm chest. He wrapped his arms over his shoulders and yelped as Percival tossed him onto the bed.

The robe fell open, revealing Percival's toned chest. He pulled Percival down by the robe's belt, feeling his weight envelop him, letting his hot breath collect on his skin. He felt Percival reach down between them, slowly rubbing Credence into full arousal.

Percival rose, letting the light shine on Credence’s flushed skin. He could drink in this sight all night, but tonight was about Credence. He slid off and knelt at the side of the bed. He eased Credence’s legs up to his chest.

“Keep your legs clear of your face. I want to watch you when I go down,” Percival whispered roughly. “Are you ready?”

Credence nodded jerkily and Percival moved in, licking a long, hot stripe between his cheeks. He spread them wider. Credence hooked his hands beneath his knees, opening himself up for Percival.

His breaths came in short bursts as Percival’s lips undulated on his hole. He reveled in the wet smack of his tongue, which made small ravenous circles and caused his toes to curl.

Percival’s eyes darted up as he worked Credence’s hole, watching as his boy unraveled. His knuckles were white as he clutched the backs of his knees. Without warning, the warm protrusion of Percival’s tongue delved deeper, opening him up, drawing out involuntary, breathy moans.

He pulled, back, right hand working Credence while the other spread his cheeks. He watched as Credence shuddered and writhed beneath him, taking in every sensation.

“I love it when you’re like this,” he said. He pressed a kiss to his inner thigh. “Freely filled with want. You’re such a good boy.”

“P-please more. I want more, Percival.”

Percival grinned as he stood. He pulled down his pajama bottoms and Credence lunged forward, taking in the musk of his pubic hair and the salty tang of his precome. He lazily sucked at the tip while Percival ran his hands over his neck and shoulders. He jerked and Credence pulled away.

“N-not yet, Credence. Here,” he gestured back to the bed. “Get on all fours.”

Credence nodded and climbed up. He rested on his elbows and knees, thrusting back into the air. Percival’s firm grip spread him open once more. When he felt the tongue he moaned into his elbow.

“Let me hear you. I want to hear you,” Percival growled. Credence let loose, groaning in time with Percival’s greedy visitations. His toes curled. His hands clutched the bedspread for sweet leverage.

As his mouth worked eagerly, Percival’s free hand glided up and down Credence’s length, squeezing out the precome, making his boy squirm and pant. It was all Percival needed. Seeing Credence utterly undone by his hand and mouth was too much for him.

“P-Percival—”

Then he felt his warmth spill out on his hand and drip onto the bedspread. He gave Credence a few more shuddering strokes. He let him lay there and breathe, taking in the sight of the sweat gathered on his skin and the blood rushing to his head. 

He flipped Credence around and crawled on top of him. He kicked off his pajama bottoms, letting Credence stroke his bare skin. He straddled him, watching his swollen lips envelop the tip of his manhood. He gently glided in and out, watching Credence take him whole. He grunted, clutching Credence's shoulders as he finished in his mouth He eased himself down, taking Credence by his side. Percival conjured up a rag, dabbing at Credence’s forehead and the mess of their lovemaking. The cords zipped off and the curtains enshrouded their haven. They whispered in the dark, each drinking in each other's skin, feeling whole and concealed from the world.

 

* * * * *

That Annette Graham was acutely skilled in the practice of occlumency. He had practice, however and she was at last starting to crack. Director Graves could stand to learn a thing or two from her, but no matter. His eyes were hazel as he contemplated the interlocking stone wall of his cell.

Were she less powerful the stone would have consumed her and her assistants long ago. Such potential, yet she squandered it here, he thought bitterly. To think that MACUSA sucked the life and passion from these poor souls, weaning ambition and teaching weakness. And they had the gall to call him a criminal!

What a waste her career was. He slowly filed through her days at the Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts, sighing with ennui. How this could be called the life of a witch was beyond him.

She would commute to and from work like a lowly no-maj, sitting plaintively on the trolley as the no-maj rabble harried her morning. She would travel with that auror, Sean Mahoney, who seemed dull and labored in his affection. Marriage was on both of their minds. She could do much better, frankly. The magic she laid hands on daily was of far more import than his tawdry tasks as an auror. Yet she returned Mahoney’s affections? Preposterous.

Her research could bear such wonderful fruit, but it was always left to spoil on the branch. What a pity. While her understanding of the bewildering artifacts ran deep, her vision was shallow. One by one the artifacts were neatly and dully quantified then locked away, depriving the wizarding world of their collective value and utility. What an astonishing waste!

The pathetic ebb and flow of her days was not of interest. He required only one bit of knowledge. And there they were! The puzzle doors of The Oubliette stretched out before Graham in memory. Routine maintenance of its protective wards was required. How intriguing. Divining the spells she employed to manipulate The Oubliette would occupy him for awhile, but they were nothing he could not unlock.

Soon he would unshackle himself and take his revenge on this pitiful organization. Any circle that prides itself on its own meekness would not survive in the new world order.

Only a few would be worth reinvesting in, Grindelwald thought. That Newt Scamander was the only one of them with any substantial drive. _He_ did not fear the unknown, the wild recesses of magic and lore. Perhaps he would be spared. He saw it himself when they had the gall to come interrogate him in these conditions. Mr. Scamander was not one for the beaten path; his expulsion from Hogwarts demonstrated that much.

His naivete left him open. A drastic error. He was so focused on gleaning information about the dark stone that he did not put up any mental barriers whatsoever. Grindelwald planted false book titles in Queenie’s vision; they’d waste precious time on that false lead. What he glimpsed in exchange was of far more value—the young obscurial, Credence Barebone. He lived! And he was with his Percival Graves…this would play well into his plans. Soon his marionettes would dance at the tug and pull of their own heartstrings. It was only a matter of time, and he had nothing but time in The Oubliette.

 

                       

           

           

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I had a computer mishap over the long weekend and lost my draft for this chapter. Fortunately, the paper copy of my outline survived my laptop. Expect a return to regular weekly updates. We are more than halfway there!
> 
> The following is smutty:  
> -Analingus, oral sex, hand-jobs, and sweaty kisses.


	8. The Orchard Street Tenement Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You cannot have hurt & comfort without the hurt.

              

Officer Leonard Graves sat silently in his office drinking his afternoon coffee. He had finished filing his No-Maj reports for the day, copying Percival’s offices on an internal investigation. His wand rested hidden in his waistcoat. To the no-maj eye, he was a dedicated detective, but his responsibilities as No-Maj NYPD Internal Investigation Lead took higher priority much of the time. It was a difficult balance to strike.

The letter from his cousin Percival had rested in his top desk drawer for days, tidily hidden away from prying eyes. If his brother Gerald happened upon it, he would never hear the end of it. Leonard himself didn’t know what to think of it. He hadn’t received a personal missive from Percival since his directorial induction ceremony.

That was years ago, after the accident.

The guilt Leonard felt had never fully dissipated in that time. The brief spark of pride he felt after his wounding jab had long faded away. Repute and money contaminated familial ties. Funerals tended to bring out the extremes, reopening scars and alighting every bitter ember innate to families such as theirs.

It was nearly a decade ago. Percival’s life was forever changed that autumn afternoon. One moment Percival was accepting one of the highest offices at MACUSA, and the next his parents were gone forever.

Ethel and Aiden’s train had derailed in the mountains, the passenger car tumbling all the way down. It was reported as no-maj error. The funeral was closed casket, though Leonard, his brothers, and his cousins did not learn of that detail for some time.

It was cruel and childish what they did. Their verdant envy had won out in the end. To them, if MACUSA felt that none of them were deserving of the directorial seat, then Percival would not be deserving of their familial piety.

They all abstained from attending the funeral, no one sending so much as a note or wreath. No doubt it was well attended by their many family friends and colleagues, but the bulk of the surviving Graves clan was notably absent, an enticing bit of gossip that lingered in New York’s high society like the stench of burning, twisted metal. And they had stoked the flames. Percival heard no end of it.

He remembered Gerald’s particularly harsh words.

“Looks like that bloodline’s about to dry up. No way that wand-polisher Percival will make that branch of the family tree bloom.” Leonard had laughed along with them.

They wanted him to feel lonely at the top of the hill, but little did they know that Percival was more than happy to oblige.

And so, desirous to be free of their ilk, his cousins were cut out of the bulk of the family fortune, and a good portion of them were suddenly out of work. A handful of them retained their posts at MACUSA following their bitter aspersions, but many relocated out of anger. Percival had uncovered their subtle web of nepotism, clearing it with a flick of his wrist. Dispelling interior corruption fell under his jurisdiction, and Percival Graves was nothing if not devoted to his duties.

Leonard still remembered the letter he received after Percival's reprisal. Percival never had never been verbose when a point needed to be made, and this one had stung acutely.

* * * * *

_Leonard,_

_Because you are one of my less inept cousins, I will allow you to keep your position at MACUSA for the sake of the wizarding world at large. Though I may be able to forgive your transgressions with time, I am afraid my late parents cannot. The cabal born of your collective envy is deeply unbecoming of the Graves family name. Except when your work related responsibilities call upon you to do so, you may neither contact me nor speak to me._

_You may send a carrier pigeon back with a signed envelope if you agree to these terms. In so doing, we will both be saved a great deal of animosity. If you send a letter, know that I will not read it._

_Percival Graves_

_Director of Magical Security & Law Enforcement_

_Offices of the Magical Congress of the United States of America_

_223 Broadway, Woolworth Building_

_New York City, NY_

* * * * * 

After some inner debate, he opened the letter and read with vigor. He did not relish reliving Percival’s recent controversy. He of course read about his doppelganger in the papers. The damned Wizarding Journal unjustly picked him clean, especially after publishing that open letter from Representative Chadwick. He had been imprisoned and impersonated by one of the darkest wizards of their time. Who would have been able to survive that but his cousin, Percival?

Percival’s position was one of the few things he had left, family be damned, but the detail of his companion intrigued him. He was happy for him. The Graves Estate had always seemed so cavernous and forboding so it pleased Leonard to learn that he had found a partner.

He read on, thinking through the details. He would be able to pull a few strings here and there, he calculated. Leonard had access to secure information throughout lower Manhattan. Fires were common around the turn of the century, at least he had that much to go on, if Mr. Barebone’s musings were anything to be believed.

Leonard, dialing his colleague at the Lower Midtown Precinct, prepared his investigation both for Percival’s sake and for his partner’s.

He hoped Ethel and Aidan Graves would look favorably on this small atonement.

 

* * * * * 

 

Credence knocked on the study door, but received no answer. He was already dressed in his work shirt and his Millenium boots, ready to engage in their defensive charm maneuvers. He knocked again.

Percival stirred within. He heard the fold of thick paper and deep resigned sighs. Perhaps it was another report of anti-magic propaganda. The poor man. He pushed the door open. Percival sat at his desk, reading and re-reading a letter at a rapid pace. He clutched his silver letter opener, knuckles white.

“I’m ready for our lesson, Percival. I’m all warmed up.”

Percival quietly folded the letter and asked him to sit. Another sealed envelope addressed to Credence was in his hands.

“Do you remember what we talked about the day we purchased your wand? After we made love?”

Credence thought long and hard. His wand had become so attached to him at that point, it was difficult to imagine life before its acquisition, but he nodded.

“We were talking about your parents. And your cousins.” His eyes scanned the manila envelope. “Have they contacted you? What did they say?”

He normally would have been glad that Percival reached out to his remaining family, but the dourness of his penetrating gaze told Credence that this was not a social call, but grave business.

“After that night, what you said about your mother—what _Mary_ Lou said—stuck with me. I…I contacted my cousin Leonard on the matter, Credence. He is employed by MACUSA, and works with the no-maj police department as a liaison and investigator. I honestly didn’t think he’d write back. After my last letter to him, I figured we had washed our hands of each other for good. He came through though. I won’t lie to you, my own curiosity got the better of me as well.”

He guided Credence to the window. He handed Credence his letter.

“What did he find out? Could they still be…?” Credence asked, grip firm around the letter opener.

“The news is not happy, Credence. What that letter contains about your mother and Mary Lou will be distressing. If my Leonard is to be believed…well, I won’t force you to read it. If you like, we can save it for when you feel ready. Or I can dispose of it. We can walk away from this together and begin our lesson for the day. The choice is yours to make.”

“I…I want to read it, Percival. Anything that involves Mary Lou is bound to be unhappy and cruel,” he mused, stroking his left shoulder. “This may be the last chance I have to learn what became of my mother. I…need to. I won’t be able to rest easy otherwise.”

“Do you need some privacy? I can prepare in the training hall while you read. We can discuss it afterwards, if you like.”

Hand darting out, Credence took hold of Percival’s French cuff.

“No. No. I don’t want to be alone with this. Please stay. I need you to be here.”

“Always. I’m here for you, darling.”

Percival led him with a hand on the small of his back to the leather couch near the mantel. He handed Credence the letter opener and watched as he read silently.

 

* * * * * 

 

_Mr. Credence Barebone,_

_I want to start off by introducing myself briefly. I suspect Percival has not mentioned me by name. My name is Leonard Hoigt Graves. I am writing to you from the offices of the NYPD, Tenth Precinct. I am Percival’s first cousin, along with my brother Gerald and sister Noreen, though he has a few others._

_Through a mutual understanding, he and I haven’t contacted one another in years, so I was shocked to find a letter from him in my mailbox. You see, his other cousins and I were very cruel to him, injuring him deeply during a vulnerable time in his life. You may have heard as much. With the benefit of time and perspective, I realize that our actions had been a big mistake._

_He’s hoping you get something out of all this—maybe a little perspective of your own. Just know that perspective often follows calamitous and sad times. Before you read on, please remember that Percival wouldn’t have contacted me if he didn’t regard you in the highest order. He has the best intentions at heart for you._

_After reading his letter, I called in a few favors with the other precincts. Took a lot of digging on my part, but I am a Graves after all. We can handle such tasks._

_From what Percival wrote, it seems you think she passed away in an accident. It turned out to be a good place to start, though narrowing down the exact circumstances was a challenge. My main lead was your adoptive mother, Mary Lou Barebone. I found her name when going over a closed case file. She was interviewed by the NYPD after a fire down on the Lower East Side._

_After the no-majs passed the Tenement House Act of 1901, a lot of pre-existing buildings were never brought up to code. A tenement building down on Orchard Street burnt down on the night of April 4 th, 1904. It was one a few that burned down that year and one of the many that fell through the cracks of the reform. The report says the fire spread quickly, rendering the building uninhabitable._

_This tenement in particular was owned by a crime outfit. It was suspected to be a front, bringing in immigrants illegally for substantial amounts of capital—family heirlooms, gold, the works. The head of the crew was brought in on unrelated charges._

_On that day, my sources tell me that Mary Lou Barebone was on the scene. She had you with her, swaddling you in her arms. When the investigators asked the surviving residents, they said that she had been visiting her distant cousin who lived on the top floor of the building._

_She raised a few eyebrows with the investigators. Would have with me too, had I been there. She said that she ran through the blazes to escape with you, but she didn’t have a cough or any soot on her clothing. It was a big fire, yet she was entirely unaffected. You were clean as well, not a spot of soot to be seen. The fact that you and your mother lived on the top floor raises some other questions as well. Other residents who lived on the second and third floors didn’t make it out in time._

_Ms. Barebone said your mother was trapped underneath some rubble, and that she told her to leave her and save you instead. The NYPD never recovered her body. Many remains were unidentifiable._

_When we asked the neighbors, they said that Mary Lou and her cousin got into some really bad arguments. They said you could hear it on the whole story, though the source of the conflict was never clear to the lot of them. They also reported a really severe row the evening before the fire started. Others saw her coming and going very frequently in the few days leading up to the fire, poking around in all sorts of strange places in the tenement, including the boiler room._

_It hurts to write this, but if you ask me she had a big part to play in it all. Just call it a wizard’s intuition. The NYPD never got enough evidence to that effect, though. They couldn’t hold her on any charges after questioning her. I can only assume she adopted you afterwards._

_My precinct was in the know about The New Salemites. Considering her stance on wizarding people, I wouldn’t be shocked to learn that your mother’s status as a witch played into it…_

_In any case, the investigation went cold from there. NYPD and Fire Department concluded that the cause was a gas leak. Inspections of the building that took place after the acts were passed seemed to support that theory. Soon after the case was closed it all became just another bad memory. But I know how memories can burrow deep down and fester._

_In my letter to Percival I shared with him what I wrote for you here. No doubt this hurts him as well. Hopefully some good can come out of knowing, Credence._

_I’ve included the address of the lot where the building once stood. The crime outfit I mentioned earlier still has legal ownership of the property, shocking as that may seem. Apart from clearing some of the rubble, the lot hasn’t been developed in nearly twenty years. It’s probably overgrown by now, caught in legal limbo._

_If the two of you ever feel the need to discuss this further, I’ve included my home address. My wife Edna would be thrilled to have you both over for dinner—or drinks, as the case may be._

_I am sorry for your loss. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you both have each other to lean on. Don’t hesitate to let me know if I can assist further._

_Deepest regards,_

_Officer Leonard H. Graves_

 

 * * * * * 

 

Credence’s hands trembled as he folded the letter. Wordlessly he slid it back in the envelope. It slipped from his hand onto the floor. His eyes welled with tears.

“That…that monster,” he uttered, voice cracking. “That monster. She took her away. She took my ma away from me. Why, Percival? Why did she hate us so much?”

His face broke and he collapsed into the older man’s side, quaking and hunched. Percival clutched him tightly.

“Ma could have taught me...it could have been her teaching me magic instead of that monster telling me I was worthless. Everything could’ve been different. I could have lived all these years as a wizard. She took that away from me. She took _me_ away.”

“I know, my boy. I’m sorry,” he said, rocking him back and forth. “Just let it out. Let it all out. I’m here. I’ll listen.”

“She stole me! That murderer, that murderer,” he spat. He covered his face with both hands as he wept. Blood rushed to his face, igniting his anger.

“She said she wanted the best for me. After everything she did, she said that to me. How could she? Mary Lou said that I deserved it all! Every cut and bruise, I earned! How? How, Percival? I was just a baby, and my ma, she probably didn’t have a penny to her name, or family. We could have been poor together. We could have been a family, Percival,” Credence cried, withering in Percival’s arms.

Percival listened to the outpouring of grief, silently, but intently. Though his affections ran deep, he knew nothing could replace that loss, that time of magic known as childhood. He had had valuable time with his parents that Credence would never enjoy.

His parents had walked him to Johannes Jonker’s Wand Emporium, his mother guiding him as he retrieved his very first wand. His father had been there on the train platform, waving proudly as his son was sent off to Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They were present at his graduation, his mother bringing a small cake from Gladys to mark the occasion. When he was promoted to Head Auror, they had been there to make a toast to him.

Credence’s mouth was a steady stream of lament, with Percival hanging on every word. He offered comfort through his touches, letting Credence say everything that needed to be said and curse everything that needed cursing.

Suddenly Credence’s hands rose to clutch his chest.

A low tremor vibrated against Percival’s throat. He pulled back. Credence was clutching at his throat, breathing in and out in a frantic pace. Percival’s grip tightened.

“Credence, what’s wrong?”

A crackle and surge of energy ran through him, throwing him off the couch and into the granite mantel. Through the blur, Percival saw the couch begin to rattle and quake.

“Mary Lou,” Credence murmured amidst the rancor. “How could she?”

His irises were fading, slowly being consumed by white, blind rage. He started shaking, rocking back and forth erratically, murmuring Mary Lou’s name over and over.

Percival’s eyes widened. He sprang up and rushed to his side. He threw his arms about Credence.

“You’re safe here! Don’t give into it, Credence. I’ve got you!”

The tremors gathered terrifying strength. Seemingly out of control, he sprung up from the couch, casting Percival back onto the carpet. He threw his arms about his stomach, trying to quell the rising quake and fury. His face was writhing with fear and anger.

He had felt this before, Credence thought. After the white wizard, wearing Percival’s guise, had struck him down, bruising his chest and heart.

“H-help me,” he called out, eyes entirely white. “I—I don’t want this, Percival! This grief, it’s too much. I-it’s eating me alive.” He jerked and jerked forward to the center of the study, led by the wretched force inside of him.

Percival slowly raised his hands, staring into the whiteness of Credence’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean to open these wounds, my darling. I only wanted to grant you some closure, some knowledge of your family,” he said, stepping forward slowly. “Please believe me.”

Credence shook his head, words falling on deaf ears and tears streaming from his white eyes. Dark, misty tendrils gathered around him. A shockwave burst forth, colliding with a book case and scattering the contents. A heavy tome crashed onto Percival’s head, nearly knocking him off of his feet.

He stepped forward slowly, hands outstretched, ignoring the blood slowly trickling down his temple.

“Please forgive me, my boy. I’ll do anything. Please, just speak to me.” He continued his approach. Credence shook and levitated inches off of the floor. Another wave shot toward the door, knocking it clean from his frame, wooden splinters littering the rug.

Percival kept his eyes on Credence, walking forward with arms outstretched. When he was within arm’s reach, he could see the tears streaming down his cheeks. Sparks ignited in the web of fog surrounding Credence, enshrouding them in black mist.

Percival darted into the perimeter, hands outstretched, cupping the boys neck and jaw. Credence’s hand rose and grasped at his fingers. His eyes were on Percival. He winced as the obscurus’ energies surged and crackled. His breath came in hitches and sobs. He winced and twitched, feeling the lashes of his belt as if they stung him anew.

“I’m here, Credence. I can’t bring your mother back. I can’t undo what Mary Lou has wrought. I can’t dispel this loss,” he brought Credence closer. “But I can share your burden. I can share your sorrow, relieve you of some of its weight. I want nothing more than to soothe you, my boy.”

Credence’s arms wrapped around his shoulders in a vice grip. The blood seeped into his shirtsleeve as Credence shuddered and wordlessly called out to him.

“I’m here, Credence,” Percival said, sinking to his knees. The rabid beat of his heart slowed. “I’ll always be here for you. Please...forgive me.”

The mists subsided gradually beneath Percival’s weight. The quaking dissipated into soft tremors, then harried breaths. Credence burrowed into his chest. Percival wiped away both of their tears.

“I’ve got you. I’ve got you,” Percival whispered. He stroked his black locks as he looked about the room. The two lashes ripped long violent tears in the rug. Books and papers littered the floor, some shredded to bits. Splinters dangled and fell from the doorframe and the lamps shattered. But Percival didn’t care. All of his attention and soft touches were focused on the young man in his arms.

They rocked back and forth slowly, until Credence nodded out from exhaustion.

              

 

* * * * * 

              

Credence lay with his head in Percival’s lap, detailing the lengths of Mary Lou’s abuses, meandering from one tearful recollection to the next. Percival sat quietly, caressing him and listening patiently. He couldn’t allow the memories to pool and fester; he let Credence speak uninterrupted. They moved underneath the covers, gathering warmth. He pressed the young man against his chest as he forged on and on.

Credence smelled the man’s cologne, and felt the fast pitter-patter of an angered heart as he spoke of his upbringing. Save for the occasional nod and grim hum, Percival was quiet. He had thought all this time that Percival didn’t want to hear about his upbringing—or, rather, that he didn’t want to make Credence think on it more than was necessary.

Credence had worn himself out after an hour or so and dozed off. He awoke to a cool breeze and birds chirping on the tree outside their window. Percival had brought him some tea, which cooled on the nightstand. He smelled pancakes wafting in from downstairs. It wasn’t like Percival to serve him in bed. He always disliked having food in the bedroom, or stains on his linens.

He sat up in bed, slowly examining his wand in his hands. He wondered if this same wand would have chosen him all those years ago. He held it up, letting the mother of pearl catch in the light. Perhaps not, he thought. He would have been a completely different person without Mary Lou’s tyranny. He pondered what he would have been like—bold, upright, confident, able. The vanity’s mirror gave him pause. He ran his hand over his face then re-examined the scars on his palms.

Percival had done his best to erase these marks—at least that was the emotional impulse that the white wizard had acted upon—but still they remained, an indelible reminder of not only The New Salemites, but of what could have been.

He could have had a wonderful education at Ilvermorny, seven whole years devoted to magical study and growth, with friends and peers to call his own. Afterwards, he could have held a steady job, enchanting artifacts or brewing liniments and remedies. And, at the end of the day, he could call himself a wizard, sending money back to his ma when she needed it and walking with her in Central Park.

He jumped when he heard the knocking. Percival’s back pushed through the door and he came carrying a tray with more tea and flapjacks. His hair was out of sorts. His waistcoat was unbuttoned and he had rolled up the sleeves of a fresh shirt. The small apron was dashed with flour. He tried his best to smile as he placed the plate of lumpy flapjacks on the nightstand.

“I know they’re not much,” he said quietly. He felt the boy’s forehead with the back of his hand. “Can I get you anything else?”

“No, no…this is lovely, Percival. Thank you.”

A little undercooked in the middle, but sweet nonetheless. He made sure to avoid crumbs, but when he looked he found that Percival paid no mind to the powdered sugar on the bedspread.

“I wrote Newt a note. He should be over soon. He needs to know what happened.”

Credence looked in the mirror again. He was pale, skin dewy from the hours of distress.

“Is he going to take me away? I…I destroyed the study. I couldn’t control the obscurus. After all this time…What is he going to say?”

“Don’t worry. I just need to let him know this happened.”

“For his research?”

Percival shook his head. “No for you, Credence. I need to know that you’re okay.”

Credence tried to ignore the welling of dread in his stomach as he ate. It surged as he heard the doorbell downstairs.

Percival went down to greet him at the door.

“I came as soon as I received your note,” Newt said. He had his briefcase in hand. “Where is he?”

“This way,” Percival said.

He led him upstairs to the master bedroom. Credence was already standing, hands tucked in front of him, as if awaiting vast admonishment.

“How are you faring, Credence?” Newt asked gently. He opened his briefcase and reached inside for his instruments.

“I’m…I’m better now. Just scared, that’s all.”

“Why come?”

“I couldn’t control it, Newt. The obscurus, it just came out. I destroyed the study—it’s utterly ruined. All my textbooks too,” he said as he wiped his eyes.

“The textbooks can be replaced, Credence,” Percival said. “And you did nothing wrong. It is I who should be apologizing.”

“What do you think you fail at?”

“Y-you all are trying so hard to get me better and then I just ruin it all by being so ruined and scared. It’s my responsibility too, you know.”

Percival sat him on the bed, stroking his back. Newt got to work immediately, retrieving his notes from the last evaluation. In his hand Percival also spied the official MACUSA stationary. Newt was going to have to report. Tina would also be informed.

He took a deep, calming breath. He would take responsibility, if it came to it. He knew the boy wasn’t to blame, but there was a good chance MACUSA would disagree. He decided to halt his planning and conjecturing for the time being, choosing instead to focus on his Credence.

 

* * * * * 

 

“My goodness. The obscurus is still capable of this much force, even after its nourishment has dissipated. Perhaps my hypothesis wasn’t completely correct,” Newt pondered aloud, picking at the shredded rug and gazing upon the books scattered on the floor. “What on earth roused it?”

Percival was ashamed. He had his hand in this as well. He unsheathed his letter from Leonard and handed it to Newt.

“It wasn’t spontaneous. I believe this is what triggered it.”

Newt sat on the leather couch and read. He pinched his brow after finishing it.

“I wish you had consulted me first. This is very troubling news, Percival.”

“He expressed a desire to know, Newt. He mentioned his mother so much…he had a right to know. I realize now it was the wrong time to reveal this. I told him before he read it that it was terrible news. I gave him a choice, but…the option of learning about his mother was too great to ignore. Hardly a choice, in retrospect.”

“It is some relief knowing that, Percival. You are a man of due diligence. I suppose there was no way of knowing it would have ignited him this way, but still...This is making me rethink some of my theories on the nourishment of an obscurus. It makes sense though. Revisiting the circumstances of the obscurus’ manifestation as a trigger. Knowing that Mary Lou was likely involved in his mother’s demise…my goodness…”

Newt paused and approached Credence’s shelves. He made arcs with his wand, restoring the pages and re-shelving the textbooks. Percival got to work on the other shelves and the rug. A vicious disjuncture still ran along the length of the rug. Let it serve as a reminder of my folly, Percival thought.

“I will have to report this to President Picquery, you realize. She trusts that we will perform our duties according to the agreement. My research stands to benefit a good many young witches and wizards, and your congress needs our cooperation.”

“I understand. It was part of the deal. She took on a big political risk proposing this arrangement,” Percival said as he examined yet another bombastic headline on that day’s paper. “We need to make sure it wasn’t for nothing.”

Newt was writing at Percival’s desk, borrowing his jasper pen.

“I am willing to skew things a bit. If he were to be removed from your care and placed into, I don’t know, state custody, it would rattle his stability—we might have another Obscurus Incident on our hands. We can’t give the obscurus more sustenance. Mind you, this is for Credence’s sake, not yours.”

Luckily Tina had been called in for another auror task that day. He wasn’t sure if Tina would have capitulated with this decision.

“But,” Newt said with all the authoritative gusto he could muster, “you are to consult me if any more news like this is unearthed. If you injure him again like this, I will have to take action, d-do you hear? You are also to seek reparations for Credence’s sake. He’s already suffered enough.”

“I promise you, I will,” Percival said. “His welfare means everything to me. Living without him is unthinkable to me now.”

 

* * * * *

 

Credence woke with the dawn. Percival lay in bed beside him, utterly spent, clutching him with one arm. A dusty copy of George Eliot’s “The Mill on the Floss” was still in his free hand. The dishes from his breakfast in bed were still on the vanity.

Slowly he extracted himself from Percival and got dressed. He went downstairs to the study. The wreckage had been undone. If only other kinds debris were so easy to clear, he thought. As he walked along, his toe caught on the seam in the rug. He found his letter on Percival’s desk. He scanned the address. Downstairs he pulled on his spring jacket and laced up ankle boots.

 Making one last check to see if he had everything—wand, some money, and the letter—he began his walk to the train.

He wouldn’t be able to rest until he saw the site with his own two eyes.

Trudging through the morning rush, his gait gathered resolve. He ignored the rumbling of his stomach; he would hardly be able to eat right now anyway.

The fire was nearly twenty years ago, he thought. What would even remain of his mother? No photographs, no diaries, not even a spare glove could possibly still be there, but nonetheless he had to see. His hand trembled as he held the trolley pole for some stability.

After a few transfers, finally got off at Union Square. He decided to walk from there. How many people lost someone in that fire, he wondered. How many families did her crime mar?

He looked at a couple of workers drinking coffee from their thermoses. What if one of them had a connection to the fire too? How many nameless faces did he walk by during his life? How many of them were touched by the tragedy, by Mary Lou’s bottomless spite? He prayed they were constructing housing that was up to code.

The Orchard Street sign stood at the corner. His stomach lurched. He turned the corner onto a quiet street. Several residents were out sweeping and tending their gardens, paying him little mind.

His heart raced as he spotted the ruins.

This was it, the final place he and his mother had been together as a family. A great portion of the façade had been cleared away, crumbling with time. They must have cleared away the loose bricks long ago as well, he thought. The building’s adjacent were newer, bringing the decrepit façade into stark relief.

Dilapidated boards were nailed over the doorway. A decaying notice swayed the breeze, warning trespassers away. He looked up to the top floors. It was likely the rooms were empty, burned away or picked clean.

But he had to try.

He examined his surroundings. A few broken windows littered the front. No one seemed to be watching. Indeed, the scorched remains must have lost their novelty years ago. He went to the front side, stacking a few trash cans and climbing over the hollowed window frames.

The stench of smoke still permeated the interior. The brick and raw planks were visible through the singed plaster. The loose boards sank beneath his feet, but he pressed on, finding the staircase up.

Many others have tread upon this tomb, Credence realized quickly. Doors were thrown open, crude graffiti littered the walls, and handprints were left behind in the dust. He covered his mouth. The stench of fire was unmistakable.

Leonard’s letter said that they lived on the top floor. On rickety stair cases he balanced, clutching the remaining bits of bannister for dear life. But he pressed on up and up until he reached the top clearing. Water damage and mold had seeped in considerably.

At the top landing, where a great gaping hole in the brick and stone stretched open to reveal the morning sun, Credence lingered. His mother must have stood in this very spot, he thought, gazing out the top window up and down the street, contemplating the possibilities that their new life in America had in store for them.

Credence wept, wiping his eyes on his sleeve, wincing at the sting of soot. He swallowed his ponderings and forged onwards, diving into every room he could safely enter. Many of the rooms were barren, save for the reminders of the lives snuffed out that day.

He stepped over rusted nails and broken planks, bracing himself against the walls as some of them gave out entirely. He looked in every room lining the hall seeking some reminder of her.

In the very last chamber, his head sunk low. Still nothing. As he headed toward the dusty window, his foot broke through the planks. He stumbled forward, catching himself on a nearby cabinet and falling with a great crash. A drawer clattered out and skid across the floor. The cabinet lay on top of him, though it was light enough to push off.

He stood and dusted himself off. His eyes caught the drawer and widened. Inside, where the front and bottom panels intersected, a slip of paper jutted out, waving in the draft. Slowly he reached out, pinching the paper delicately. It was a yellowed, brittle photograph. Whether it was hidden or simply lost, Credence couldn’t say for certain.

“Lumos,” he said, lighting the tip of his wand. The light trembled in his grip as he illuminated the photo.

 

* * * * *  

 

Percival startled awake. He felt around for Credence but found the bedding at his side empty. He listened, but heard nothing. Credence may have been reading, or was downstairs in the kitchen. He quickly readied himself for the day. A full lesson might have been out of reach at the moment, he thought, but he would pose the idea to Credence. He tied his tie and buttoned his waistcoat. After putting the final touches on his hair, he descended the steps.

“Credence?” he called out. No reply. The house was still.

He crept into the study, but found it unoccupied. He tried the kitchen next, then the dining room, and then the parlor.

“Are you there?”

No sign of him. His heart was in his throat. He threw open the trap door and thundered down the steps.

“Credence! Credence, answer me!”

He checked the storage closets, underneath the tables and chairs. Nothing. He took the stairs two at a time on the way up. He threw open the pantry door and only found produce. He paced in the front hall.

Checking for one last detail, he returned to the study. There he found his letter from Leonard. He scanned for the address and then disapparated immediately.

He appeared in an abandoned alley near rubbish and trash cans. He wiped off his coat and set out. Orchard street would be nearby, if he remembered correctly.

He reached the property in seconds. The window frames were blackened and neglected. He stepped up onto the stoop and listened for stirring.

On the city’s notice, he found what looked to be fresh creases in the withered paper. He stepped over to the side window and peered inside. He couldn’t call out here if he wanted to remain unnoticed, so he stepped inside.

On the wooden floor, he spotted fresh footprints. The small brass medallion with his shoemaker’s name made distinct marks in the dust and debris. Credence must have come this way. He felt some small relief, but this property was dangerous and unstable.

With a wave of his wand, he dispelled the noise of the city just outside. A deathly silence closed in on him and he listened closely. Far, far up, he heard creaking and the sounds of small incantations.

He climbed up the steps carefully, restoring the wooden steps when needed. The incanting grew louder as he ascended, his heart swelling with relief as he recognized Credence’s cadence. He no longer crept, not wanting to surprise him in this veritable tomb.

_"Orchideous. Orchideous. Orchideous.”_

Rounding the corner, he spotted Credence. Surrounding the young wizard were fresh, magical blooms. Orchids, roses, daisies, lilies, and many others littered the room, seemingly sprouting from the scattered bits of splintered wood, making elegant, curling wreaths.

“Credence…”

He turned, head still hung low. To his chest he clutched a scrap of paper.

“I-I’m sorry,” he said, voice cracking. “I had to come here. I had to see it for myself. What she has done. What was left.”

Percival approached him slowly, waving his wand and repairing the unsafe passages of the floor. He wanted to remonstrate with him, tell him that entering this abandoned and disheveled building could have hurt him, but he couldn’t bring himself to soil Credence’s sorrowful memorial.

The flowers seemed to sway in an unfelt breeze.

“What is that you have there?” he asked softly. Credence looked on it again and held the no-maj photograph out for him to inspect.

He took it gently in both hands. In it, a woman was seated with an infant in her arms. Her dark hair was tied back in a low, flowing ponytail. Her garb was dark and modest. A shining brooch ornamented it at the dresses high neckline. A shawl with a distinctly traditional pattern topped her shoulders, though he couldn’t identify its origins.

He looked to Credence to compare. Her cheekbones were high and regal, eyes dark and soulful as she looked on her child. He recognized the peaks and valleys of her profile immediately.

“It’s ma. I know it’s her. We were here together once. I can almost feel her, Percival. If I try really hard, I can almost remember the smell of her cooking and the sounds of the neighbors. I can almost recall this room even…I-is that possible?”

“You were quite young, but I don’t see why not. A wizard’s mind can acutely store away memories, happy and sad.”

He tapped the photo with his wand. The yellow stains of time slowly seeped out, and the paper lost its brittleness. He crouched down near Credence amidst the flowers, sharing the photo.

“Let’s remember her like this,” Percival proposed. “I can tell just by looking that she wanted the best for you. You had her love, Credence.”

He reached out and cupped Credence’s jaw. He pulled Credence close. Percival held him as he wished he had been held after the accident—the way he needed to be held at his parents’ funeral.

Credence gazed at him.

“I didn’t know if I would find anything here...This photograph is more than I could have hoped. I know there’s no bringing her back, and that I might never find out more about her but…I have this much. Knowing that we were together, even if it was for a short time, brings me a little comfort.”

“She is proud of you, Credence. Watching you learn and flourish from under Mary Lou’s shadow…she’s proud, I know it. I can feel it, my boy.”

“Do you? Do you really?” Credence asked, eyes bright.

Percival wiped his eyes and smiled softly.

“No one else could have given this to me. I could have spent my entire life not knowing what she looked like…or what became of her. I-it hurts to think about still, but now I know.”

“I know I've hurt you dearly by revealing all of this to you. I will understand if forgiving me is hard...It will hurt for some time, Credence. After my parents passed away, I thought I would never recover, that I would always be alone. But having a good memory helps. And someone to share it with.”

“And there will be more good memories to come, right?” He folded his hands in front of him, leaning into Percival. “I know we haven’t known each other for that long, but I know one thing for certain…I love you, Percival Graves. I love you.”

“I love you, Credence.”

They stood in contented silence, basking in the scent of fresh flowers. Percival withdrew his wand and stepped over to the last bare bit of wall.

_“Defodio minima,”_ he uttered softly. He left a small inscription in this small sanctuary.

 

 * * * * * 

 

_In memory of a devoted mother, who traveled from parts unknown seeking a new, wondrous life for her child. We leave these flowers in tribute, and our thoughts for her in the beyond._

_P.G. & C.B., 1927_

 

 


	9. The Diamond Office

 

“Another round of interrogation? Are you certain you’re well enough, Auror Mahoney?” Warden Plum asked. He lit a cigarette, offering Auror Mahoney one as well. He took one with trembling fingers.

“I’m fine. The fact of the matter is that Annette is still trapped in that hellhole…I won’t rest until she’s free. What I’m feeling right now doesn’t matter.”

Warden Plum looked over Mahoney’s form. “And Grindelwald agreed to speak with you privately? Seems unlike him. And suspicious.”

“I don’t imagine he wants to broadcast his vulnerability,” Sean offered as conjecture. “I think he will talk…more so if he can retain his dignity.”

Plum took a deep drag and considered his options. He knew The Ministry would officially petition to have him extradited soon. The crimes against their administration were more easily substantiated on the international stage; several Ministry of Magic officials had suffered and died at his hands. MACUSA’s hostage conundrum would soon have to take the second chair; and perhaps that wouldn’t be a bad thing. No one’s been able to rest easy here with Grindelwald on site. Auror Mahoney was evidence of that much.

He knew it was a risk. Grindelwald’s silver tongue was nearly as legendary as his ruthlessness. Seeing Auror Mahoney’s hollowed eyes gave him pause, but seeing Interim Director Delhardt’s signature dispelled some of his unease. However, despite his desire to be rid of Grindelwald, if this effort propelled them toward the hostages’ release, he couldn’t afford to lose heart.

“Very well. You and Grindelwald get thirty minutes. If nothing substantial comes of this, then he won’t receive any more, you understand?”

“Yes. Yes I do.”

He followed Warden Plum to Grindelwald’s cell. Making a cross and jab with his wand. The air in front of Grindelwald’s cell shifted, creating a soft, blurred wall in front of it. He crossed to undo the puzzle stone locks, letting the auror inside.

“Thirty minutes,” Warden plum repeated dourly.

With a trembling hand, Mahoney took his old chair in front of Grindelwald’s veritable throne. The dark and damp were cloying, pressing in on him from all sides. Despite the chains and locks that kept him bound, Grindelwald’s presence loomed and practically dripped with malice.

“I did what you asked. They can’t hear us. But if we don’t receive any new insight into the stone, Plum and Delhardt won’t allow you this luxury a second time.”

“Do not fret. What I have to offer is quite intriguing,” Grindelwald replied. His hair was damp and matted down, but the fire in his eyes bordered on the edge of madness. “It appears my time is running short and in more ways than one. And you are going to help me rectify this.”

“What on earth do you mean?”

“Your friends inside of the stone have thus far ensured my safety from The Ministry of Magic, but my bargaining chip is in jeopardy. Picquery’s useless political dealings are about to fall through. I’ve seen the papers, albeit indirectly. I am wanted back in England, it seems. My calendar, however, will not accommodate lengthy extradition and trial.”

“Why should I do anything you say?” Sean asked, summoning up his last wells of ire.

“Your cooperation will be essential to Annette Graham’s wellbeing. You can share this with the warden: the stone’s power wanes, Mr. Mahoney. Older magics require numerous rites for their upkeep. I am called upon to enact them. Only the proper locale will suffice. I’ve gotten so used to the stone’s utility. It would be grim tidings for us both were it to crumble.”

“Why? What would happen? W-would they be freed? Tell me, please!”

Grindelwald shook his head and grinned gleefully. “Any being still encased within would cease to be. Turned to ash, scattered by a mere breeze. Without the rites, which only I have the key to, Annette, her team, and the memories of wizards’ past will be erased from this world indelibly.”

Sean’s heart stopped. “No. You’re lying. Y-you’re just trying to confuse me…”

“The stone cares not whether you believe me. Once the last fragments of its strength run dry, we both shall suffer. I as its keeper and steward, and you, as a broken heart. Ensure its safety and you bring yourself one step closer to embracing Annette once more. Ignore my warning, and she is soot.”

He wiped his face with his handkerchief. Assisting Grindelwald? Impossible. That would be treason! Who knew what the wizard was still capable of?

“Sean? Sean is that you?” he heard Annette’s voice murmur. Her voice was shaken and breathless. “I can’t see you. Why, why can’t I see you?”

He clapped his hands over his ears.

“Sean. I can’t breathe. This—whatever the hell it is—it’s suffocating. I need to get out. I’ve lost contact with the others. I’m all alone in here. I’m trying to figure this nightmare out, but nothing’s working…”

“Stop! Just stop!”

Grindelwald merely grinned beneath his restraints, eyes turning hazel. Sean cradled his head in his palms, reliving Annette’s pain.

“…Tell me what you need. Please, I can’t go on without her,” Sean said, breaking down.

“My stay in America has grown tedious, but I can still wring some value from it yet. Annette is a talented researcher. She tells me that a great many things in the Department for Ancient Arts & Artifacts long to feel the touch of a wizard. Frankly they’re wasted on your lot.”

“You want the artifacts? What else? Why do I get the feeling that you want more, Grindelwald?” Sean asked, surging with desperation.

“Very astute, Sean. MACUSA has taken something very precious from me: my time. Compensation is called for; I want not only the artifacts, but my original quarry as well. The obscurial, Credence Barebone, is overdue for an operation. His potential, like the stone, also languishes in MACUSA’s grip. I would see it thrive,” Grindelwald said, voice wavering between his own and Annette’s

Sean raised his gaze. Annette was there in Grindelwald’s seat, her braids perfect and neat, hazel eyes entreating him. He could almost smell her perfume and hear her pained whimpers. Tears streamed down her cheeks, the familiar lilt of her voice resounding in shattered sobs.

“What would you have me do?”

 

* * * * *

 

Percival was pouring Credence his tea when he heard the knocking. Tina Goldstein stood on the stoop with her arms crossed.

“Picquery wants to see us. All of us,” she reported curtly. “It’s about the last report.”

She stepped inside and seated herself in the parlor.

“She wants me to escort you both there,” she said. “We don’t have time to waste. I can’t believe I wasn’t there to help.”

“No use worrying about that now. I’ll go get him now.”

After a few harried moments, the three of them apparated to the Woolworth building. Credence’s feet swayed beneath them after the journey, but Percival steadied him. Percival held his hand tight as Tina led them through the main entrance. He pulled down the brim of his hat, obscuring part of his face.

Tina took note and before the crowd of MACUSA staff could notice Percival, they made a beeline toward a secluded corridor.

“Fewer eyes this way,” Tina said to Credence.

Credence lost track of their path as the trio wound through MACUSA’s halls. Down a particularly extravagant corridor, Credence spotted Newt with his briefcase. He was seated in a waiting foyer next to a receptionist’s desk.

“Director Graves, Auror Goldstein, and Mr. Barebone, we’ve been expecting you,” he said politely.

Percival merely tipped his hat as he led the three into The Diamond Office. The double doors swung open slowly, revealing an ornate chamber, which acted as Picquery’s base of operations. From the doorway, the walls spread out from obtuse angles to sharpened points at either side and returned to a point ahead of them, forming a large diamond shape. Carved wooden arches, intricately carved with tympanums and gables, stretched along the walls.

The mosaic on the floor stretched out into the shape of an eye, its blue iris glowing. Floating in a dark, swirling liquid at the eye’s center were slips of enchanted paper, displaying headlines from wizarding publications worldwide. Great wooden pinnacles and finials stretched up to the high, vaulted ceiling. A stained-glass eye bore down on them from above, shining with magical sunlight. Credence could swear it was observing the three as they entered.

At a regally carved desk, sat President Seraphina Picquery. Behind her, great filing cabinets sorted through thick stacks of state business. Tina recognized Newt’s handwriting on the report in front of her.            

“Welcome, everyone.”

She stood and crossed over to Credence, who was still gazing at the decadence of the chamber.

“Mr. Credence Barebone,” she said, holding out her hand. “I’m President Seraphina Picquery. Pleased to finally make your acquaintance. I feel as though I know you already.”

“I’ve read about you as well. I have a few books on the line of wizarding presidents in America. Quite the story,” Credence said softly.

“And it is still being written. Please, sit.”

Three chairs erected themselves near her desk. Putting on her reading glasses, she pivoted to address Newt’s report directly.

“We are fortunate the news from Mr. Scamander didn’t accompany an Exposure Report,” she said plainly, scanning the pages. “Where were you when this occurred, Auror Goldstein? Why did you not intervene?”

“I was called in to re-assign Mahoney. He requested a transfer, but by the time I got here, he had changed his mind. He said he wanted to continue grilling Grindelwald. Interim Director Delhardt gave him the go ahead as well. I put in a statement to our Head Auror as well. I thought he needed more rest, but he wrote me off. Again.”

“What did you want us to speak to?” Percival said. “Newt’s report was quite clear. He experienced a surge in energy, but it did not extend beyond my property.”

“I wanted you all here so _I_ can render our circumstances crystal clear,” she said. She levitated a pitcher of coffee over to them and served them.

“As president, I have taken it upon myself to ensure the safety and security of my constituency. When I succeed, I look for ways to improve our policy making further. When I fail, I take responsibility. In our dealings with Grindelwald, we are toeing the line. The Ministry of Magic has been on my back since they sent over Rep. Chadwick.”

“The Ministry of Magic wants him? So soon?” Tina asked. “But what about our colleagues? Active hostage situations take priority, that’s a treaty both of us signed off on. They can’t hold trial when he could harm them at any moment.”

“Correct. We originally were able to hold him because of the stone, but now The Ministry is having second thoughts. I still firmly believe we are engaged in an active hostage situation, but The Ministry now thinks his protracted inactivity tells a different story. Thinks we aren’t taking it seriously.”

“Leave it to The Ministry to discount government espionage,” Percival muttered.

 “The wizard’s done so much harm. It seems everyone wants to sink their teeth in first,” Newt added.

“As far as crimes against wizarding governments go, The Ministry has more fatalities to report,” Seraphina said, sipping her coffee. “Fortunately, his hand in the Obscurus Incident did not result in any fatalities. Wanton destruction and setting the stage for another Salem, yes, but no loss of life. The Ministry cannot boast as much about their dealings with Grindelwald, I’m afraid. The longer we hold him, the more damaging it will be to our political partnership.”

Credence clenched his fists and kept his eyes on a dark tile on the floor. He couldn’t believe he had caused that much trouble for everyone. Percival grasped his shoulder.

“We are aware of what’s at stake,” Percival said. “What do you need from us? I’m no ambassador.”

“According to Mr. Scamander and Auror Goldstein’s report, you were all working ahead of schedule. How soon can we begin the obscurus extraction?”

Newt swallowed. “I can’t say for certain. The young man has made remarkable progress—much of that is owing to Mr. Graves’ instruction—but we tread on new territory.”

“I’m a special case,” Credence added, still looking downward.

“Keep that chin up, Mr. Barebone. You are a new citizen of the wizarding world, and have a responsibility to your peers. We can't lose spirit yet."

“Agreed,” Tina said. “We need Newt’s research to help the other obscurials. We can’t let it fade away, not when it could help so many.”

“However, keeping our heads buried in the sand does no one any good,” Picquery said. “The Ministry has been persistent in uncovering Percival’s involvement in the post-Incident investigation. He was directly involved in Grindelwald’s infiltration. They think if he’s not on the case, then we are mismanaging our resources.”

Credence looked toward Percival. He didn’t mean to make this much trouble for him. He sank further in his seat, suddenly queasy with guilt. Percival met his gaze, brow furrowed, thoughts working at a rapid pace.

“And you want me back on the case,” Percival stated plainly. “I know the bi-laws; pushing forward without me on the case wouldn’t hold water. You need me to lend weight to our cause, and to find more evidence to support the hostage angle.”

“Precisely. Without Graham and her team, interacting with the stone poses a huge obstacle. Whatever Queenie managed to do hasn’t been replicated. Not having you around has dampened our efforts,” Picquery said. “By my estimate, we have two and a half weeks until they seize Grindelwald.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Tina said. “Grindelwald still has them; Annette, Ruby, Francesca, and Diana are still in danger! We can’t rush Credence because of their disregard for their lives.”

“So you are saying that if Percival steps in as director again, and works on the case personally, it will elevate the case in The Ministry’s eyes and you buy time to address the stone?” Newt asked.

“In short, yes,” Picquery said, turning to Credence. “I agree with Auror Goldstein. However, I cannot force in good conscience if the extraction will put your life at stake, Mr. Barebone, but if we cannot work in this timeline, we can’t guarantee our colleagues’ safety. Who knows what Grindelwald would do with them when faced with trial.”

The words buzzed about Credence’s head. They weren’t saying it, but all of this was secretly counting on his ability to learn and quell the obscurus. So many of them were advocating on his behalf, he knew he couldn’t let them down.

“I will do my best,” Credence said, suddenly filled with resolve, practically rising from his chair. “Newt already said that we’re closer than he could have estimated. We’ll have more examinations, Mr. Graves and I will work twice as hard. As soon as they think the obscurus is ready, I’m ready.”

Seraphina smiled and leaned back in her chair. “I like that fire, Mr. Barebone. You’re quite the precocious student, from what I hear. Who knows? Perhaps you’ll be working here someday.”

“T-thank you, President Picquery. I promise, I won’t let you down. If it means helping other witches and wizards with my condition and helping Newt use the obscurus to its full potential, I will do whatever it takes. I have to help my fellow wizard.”

“I will notify you as soon as it is time,” Tina said. “And not a moment later.”

“Thank you Auror Goldstein. If you three would excuse us, I would like to have a word with Percival alone.”

“Okay. You can meet us in my corner of the offices, Percival,” Tina said. The door shut, the echo filing out in the grand Diamond Office. She stood to gaze out the window. New York hustled and bustled, wizards and witches young and old filing out of headquarters, off to bring magic and order to the city.

“When did it all get so complicated, Percy?” she asked. She lit a cigarette with a snap of her fingers and took a long drag.

“I figure about the same time you ran for congress, Phina,” he said. He downed his coffee. “Do you have anything harder?”

“Bottom cabinet.”

He found her tumblers and the decanter. He scented the scotch delicately. A fine year. He poured liberally for the two of them and stood next to her at the window.

“Sometimes it seems just like yesterday when you and I were tucked away at Ilvermorny, reading our eyes raw in the library,” Seraphina said.

“I was there more often than you were.”

“And I there as long as I felt was necessary. Besides, your grades didn’t disguise your mean mischievous streak.”

“That was your mischievous streak, Phina. It just rubbed off on my robes is all.”

She chuckled and shook her head. “You never backed down from a rollicking good time. The herbology dept. could have used some better security.”

“Still remember a having distinct buzz for our exams. How did I ever let you talk me into relaxing with quail’s down leaves during reading week? I was fortunate to still qualify for auror training,” Percival said with a fond smile.

“Good thing you spent all those extra hours studying, then.” She grabbed Newt’s report and read it for the tenth time.

“And look at us now. Weight of the free wizarding world on our backs, and with an international fugitive ready to lash out at any moment.…we need you back, Percy.”

“Mr. Delhardt not up to the task?”

“Only just. He can maintain the day-to-day well enough, but Grindelwald is an obstacle that no one can prepare for. He’s been making some errors on our reporting. He said that all the extra paperwork and oversight was a ‘damn nuisance’ to the flow of things. As if I care about something as paltry as that.”

She sat back at her desk, chin in the palm of her hand, languidly trailing her finger on the rim of her crystal glass. It was rare to see her with those impenetrable shields down. Watching her transformation from young congresswoman to president was almost magic unto itself, a magic only she could weave.

“I wanted to apologize, Percy. For the interrogation. Seeing you here now and healthy reminds me how depleted you were after the incident. How close you were to fully deteriorating. It was wrong to put you through that so soon after your release.”

“I was a known unknown at that point in time. I didn’t blame you for treading carefully. He’s been known to indoctrinate. I would’ve done the same.”

“Same old Percy. You were always like that, though. Diligent. I still remember the year you stayed at school for spring break—to get a head start on our exams. I was a bit surprised to hear you pursued Mr. Barebone on your own.”

“You know me, I wasn’t steady with anyone during school. Our little misadventures and my studies left me with little time. Then MACUSA consumed us both."

“And after your parents passed away…well, I knew you would keep pressing forward on the same track—all work, no play. You probably would have worn the engine out.”

“I’d be letting down mother and father if I argued that point,” he chuckled.

“Have you talked to Credence? About what’s to come? I imagine he’s already asked you about potential lines of work he could enter.”

“We haven’t spoken of that, specifically, but he is thinking of the future. I get so caught up in his lessons and… _just him_ , I suppose. This little haven we’ve carved out for ourselves...it’s nice.”

He finished his drink and set it on the coaster. “But it is as you said. We can’t bury our heads in the sand. I knew this would have to end at some point.”

“The honeymoon?”

Percival blushed and nodded. “You could say it like that, yes. Our honeymoon would have to end eventually,” he sighed. “Knowing that I’ll have him to come home to helps. And soon he'll be working among his peers. It wasn't so long ago that we were both cowering under our tyrants. And now we are free. The warp and weft of life never fails to astonish me.”

“I’m certain he’ll like the change of pace. He strikes me as a young man who was forced to grow up before his time. That kind of resilience is hard-earned. He’ll excel at whatever he chooses to do, Percy. In the meantime, if you have need of tutors, I can write a note to the education coordinator.”

“That will help us out. He’ll be able to care for himself ably with my charms and defense training—and likely more so—but potions and herbology were more your fortes, not mine.”

“When the time comes, I will gather some lists. As soon as Mr. Scamander thinks the obscurus is ready to come out, just send word. I will file the task and get a guard rotation up. I do not want a second Obscurus Incident. My only comfort now is that Newt’s studies on the obscurus will benefit the wizarding world, with MACUSA spearheading.”

“If we can ease that suffering, then this all will have been worth it.”

Seraphina topped off their glasses and Percival made a small toast.

“To Newt’s research, to that damnable Grindelwald’s imminent trial, and—”

“Your future nuptials,” Seraphina joked. 

 

* * * * *

 

Since their meeting with Picquery, Credence found more vigor in his stores. The shade of his weakness had passed over him, yes, but hearing his larger role in their efforts renewed him. He learned not only for his own sake, but for his brethren as well. Waking early that morning, before the sun rose, Credence felt an unfamiliar pang of pride. He sprung out of bed and threw open the thick curtains. He said good morning to the photos of Ethel and his mother on the dresser.

He felt warm hands glide beneath his nightshirt. Percival embraced him from behind. Credence turned and Percival laid a soft kiss on his throat and trailed up his jaw. Credence stroked the soft dusting of Percival’s chest hair, accepting the morning caresses gladly.

“It’s going to be a rigorous day. Are you ready?” Percival sleepily asked between kisses.

“Yes, I am,” Credence said with a whimper. Percival nuzzled his throat and breathed him in. “Did you sleep well?”

“I slept beside you, didn’t I?”

Credence hummed and selected a work shirt from his armoire. They then had a simple breakfast and got right to work. Repairing charms were on the agenda today and they steadily worked through the different techniques and materials through the afternoon and into evening.

Repairing transfigured objects was a bit of a bugbear. The stem of the wineglass extended farther and farther, reaching nearly two feet in length. Leaning on the wall behind him were the handles of elongated brooms and mops from earlier that afternoon. At their bases rested splinters which his repairing charms did not catch.

The stem splintered beneath the weight, sending the glass’ bowl toppling down and smashing against the floor.

“Now, try repairing it,” Percival instructed.

 _"Reparo,”_ he incanted.

The shards of glass trembled and quivered on the floor. The volume was larger than he was used to. Sections of the gigantic stem came together, but most of it remained in pieces.

“Wider arcs with your wand,” Percival said. “You’re missing most of the matter by concentrating in one place.”

“The textbook didn’t mention that,” Credence said, looking over his shoulder at Percival. He felt the man approach him from behind.

“I’m aware. Somatic modulations don’t come until a little later. I didn’t cover them until my third year at Ilvermorny,” he kissed the nape of Credence’s neck and felt the young man shiver, “but I know you can do it.”

“R-right,” he said. Percival reached over his shoulder, first to break apart the wine glass, then to guide Credence’s hand in his. Percival was confident that he could follow instructions, but he knew Credence responded better to the intimate guidance. Credence was warm against his chest.

Making sure to broaden the preceding arcs, Credence incanted again. More and more of the glass trembled, coming together in shining constellations on the ground. Several more sections came together then before. Another shockwave over his shoulder.

“Very good. Again,” Percival said. He stepped away and observed.

Credence found a second wind.  He broadened the arcs further, forming a mental image of the wine glass whole again. The full stem at last formed, though the bowl portion of the glass was still hesitant to join.

“Deep breath, Credence.”

He breathed in through his nose. He couldn’t get frustrated now, he told himself.

Percival broke apart the stem again and they continued working at a fervent pace. Credence transfigured brick, warped metal, and restored them to the previous states and dimensions in cycles.

They decided on an early dinner. Percival made the sandwiches with leftover ham and served him in the parlor. The boy was spent, nearly dozing off in his seat. They were nearly at the finish line, Percival could feel it.

By his next examination, the time was ripe. Forms signed, reports filed, and profuse praise laid, they all readied themselves for what was to come.

 

* * * * *

 

The stones folded into place behind him, sealing him off from the outside world. This was Grindelwald’s domain, and he a lowly pauper. He couldn’t make out Grindelwald’s shape in the dim light.

“I’m waiting,” Grindelwald called out from the shadows.

Sean paused to examine the stolen documents. Interim Director Delhardt was a trusting man; Sean met with him on a pretense, copying the papers when the man had his back turned. He ensured the documents got to their intended destination, so as not to arouse suspicion. Everything was coming into place. So this is the reason why Auror Goldstein was so busy, he thought.

The papers tugged in his hands and glided over to Grindelwald. Perhaps he, too, was misplacing his trust; but he had little choice, if what Grindelwald said was true, then Annette would fade away altogether, along with the stone’s power. He could not abandon her now.

"They’ve set a date for the obscurus’ extraction,” Sean summarized for them. “Tina Goldstein wrote to Picquery three days ago to that effect. I’ve gotten myself assigned to escort duty…”

“Then we shall go through with the plan. You are to meet my enchanter. He will ensure the obscurial is delivered to me swiftly.”

“And then?”

“Once I am safely escorted out by Director Graves, you will find Ms. Graham safe and sound at home, just as I promised.”

“I swear on my father’s grave, if you go back on your word.”

“Mistrust? Now, after you've done so much on my behalf? You have a poor sense of timing, Mr. Mahoney. It is too late for you to turn back now.”

The stones stirred softly behind Sean. He watched as the centerpiece began unscrewing from the wall, then return to its resting place.

“I’ve all I need to escape, Mr. Mahoney. However, I don’t want to merely _escape_ , like some lowly bottom feeder. I want to humiliate MACUSA as I have been. Teach them that for all their treaties, bi-laws, protocols and regulations, that these systems will fail. So long as our society is built upon a rickety muggle-inspired foundation, we will never reach our true potential. Your wizarding society is a rabble of children, who must be routinely disciplined. Taking some of their toys away will suffice for the time being. Now, I’ve sworn to you that Ms. Graham’s safety is guaranteed, and while you may disbelieve me, you’ve no choice but to comply. After you’ve met with the enchanter, return here, and I will elaborate on my plans. Speak a word to this to anyone, and Ms. Graham is lost.”

A slip of paper shot from the dark into Sean’s hands. The words were twisted on the page, revealing an address in Greenwich Village. Sean continued on his weary way, burdened by a trust forged in treachery.

Sean was an able dance partner, Grindelwald thought. Next on his dance card was Percival Graves.

 


	10. Return to the Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Not a lot of people have a good time in this chapter. Grindelwald does, but that's about it.
> 
> Definitely a more plot-focused chapter. Do not fret, the epilogue shall be more fluffy than the driven snow and dirtier than a speakeasy. We are close, everyone!

Percival guided Credence into the magi-cab, letting him settle against his side. The magi-cab pulled away from the curb and glided effortlessly down the street. Credence was steely and silent. The force inside of him shuddered, almost as if it anticipated the extraction as well.

Beside him, Percival looked over the details of the extraction. Newt was thorough and tidy in his notes. Credence’s stomach growled. No food or drink for 24 hours before the extraction. No exceptions.

“What are you thinking?” Percival asked.

“I’m thinking that I’m hungry,” Credence said softly.

“Is that all?”

“No. I’m worried, that’s all.” Credence’s eyes were distant, and he fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. “But it needs to be done. This is the moment we’ve all been working so hard to conjure up.”

Percival ran his hand through Credence’s wavy locks.

“More than that, my boy. We’ve been working for your sake. To give you the life you deserve,” Percival said. His lips brushed against the shell of Credence’s ear, making him shudder. He smiled and bowed his head, accepting Percival’s hand in his as Manhattan sped by outside the window.

In no time they pulled up outside the Woolworth building. Credence spotted Tina and Newt, and a blonde woman in a dark blue dress who Credence did not recognize.

“Right on time!” Newt said. He waved them over.

Credence was guided to the middle of their group.

“You’re Credence Barebone!” the blonde woman said. She shook his hand daintily. “My name is Queenie Goldstein, Tina’s sister.”

“We can discuss this more inside,” Tina said leading the charge up the steps.

“I’ve heard so much about you. Shame we couldn’t meet earlier,” Queenie said. They passed over the threshold and MACUSA’s headquarters emerged from the foyer. “I work in the wand permit offices—saw your application some weeks ago—but today I’ll be assisting Newt instead. Isn’t it exciting?”

“Oh no. Why today?” Tina groaned. The loud din of voices and footsteps hit them like a wall. “Press.”

Up near the ensorcelled clock, a sizeable group of reporters were gathered around Eugene Chadwick, who had their rapt attention. In his right hand, high above the heads of the reporters, as if tempting a pack of dogs with a scrap of savory meat, was a signed and sealed envelope from The Ministry of Magic.

“At last we shall see the wheel of justice turn,” Representative Chadwick announced.

“A man of that pomp is allowed to be an ambassador?” Newt said. “So much for state secrets.”

“It’s no surprise, really,” Percival scoffed. “He’s been using the media to shape his cause. Don’t see why he should start acting appropriately for his office now.”

“Luckily, he has their attention,” Tina said.

Credence’s heart beat rapidly in his chest. He felt Percival’s anger surging beside him as he scanned the pool of rabbling reporters. Fountain pens floated beside them, frantically recording Chadwick’s grandiose words.

Credence had read the open letters in the wizarding newspaper. Chadwick spoke ill of Percival and President Picquery. In a way he could not identify, he reminded Credence of Mary Lou.

“We should get going,” Credence said in a small voice. “If we hurry—”

A reporter was upon them immediately, breaking away from the larger crowd.

“Director Percival Graves, what have you to say about this turn of events? Will Chadwick’s and the Ministry’s request be fielded? What is your take on it as Director of Security and Law Enforcement? Is there precedent for this exchange of prisoners? What’s your scoop?”

“Get out of here quickly, all of you,” Percival said to them. He squared his shoulders and stepped away from, stealing the attention away from his companions. Tina nodded and led them away as inconspicuously as possible.

A mass of reporters and journalists crowded around him. The rabble of questions consumed the foyer, sucking in passersby and magical security personnel alike. Credence threw Percival one last gaze, which was returned only briefly while he addressed the scandal-hungry writers. He clenched his fists; though he didn’t want to, Credence knew he would have to endure the extraction procedure without him. He had to.

A charmed page fluttered about Percival’s head. A black fountain pen followed it, twitching with anticipation.

“Where were you when Grindelwald was captured? Details, Director Graves, details!”

“Is it true that a new director shall be appointed? Can you confirm or deny that claim?”

“Why were you placed on leave? Where have you been all this time?”

“What of Grindelwald’s other crimes? Is Picquery really obstructing justice?”

He kept a calm exterior, but his throat was suddenly dry. Grindelwald’s crimes were too many to number.

“Did he keep you captive? Were you tortured? Details!”

Hs seemingly endless days inside of his damnable stone came rising to the surface. He breathed cloyed, chalky air and tread on darkness that was without aim. Then, the light approached him, a window to the outside world. It burned his skin and set his synapses on fire. The crowding reporters and journalists writhed like the darkness within the stone and suddenly he felt unstable on his feet.

He took a deep breath and steadied himself on the nearby railing. Grindelwald’s cackle resounded in his mind and the endless shadows clouded his vision. His collar felt too tight. He felt his knee quaking beneath his trousers.

Percival needed to calm himself; the crowd needed distraction and Chadwick refutation.

He glanced around, counting five things he could see: the grand clock, an amber pen, a porkpie hat, a briefcase, Chadwick’s smug smile. He could touch the ground, the railing behind him, his silver cufflink, and the silk tie Credence had picked out for him…

His stomach coiled like a spring as he looked upon the gathering crowd. He knew that his colleagues’ eyes were on him as well, waiting eagerly for his reply.

“Both my whereabouts during his infiltration, and my current dealings now are classified under Act 14 of MACUSA’s Directive of Wizarding Secrecy. I can tell you only this: extraditing Grindelwald to England now would mean endangering the lives of several United States citizens, a _fact_ that Eugene Chadwick sees fit to exclude.”

They clamored and rushed closer, collectively demanding that he reveal more. A small grin spread on Percival’s face. They took the bait; with hope, this would ensure that Credence and the others slip by unnoticed.

 

* * * * *

 

Deep within the Ward for Magical Maladies was the Ward of Known Unknowns, a special chamber designed to contain and inhibit wild magical energies. Tina met with a series of auror guards, flashing her papers and Picquery’s orders.

The hall widened into a waiting room of sorts, with chairs and literature. Tina cocked an eyebrow.

“Auror Mahoney?” Tina asked. “I thought you were back on the classified assignment?”

“The interim director re-assigned me,” Sean said simply. “He decided guard detail was better for the time being. H-he took your advice, Auror Goldstein.” He looked pale and beleaguered. His eyes seemed hollow, never resting upon anything in particular.

“Why is she here?” Sean asked, pointing to Queenie. “She wasn’t on the docket.” Tina thought little of the question and brushed it off as procedure.

“We got last-minute permission for the assistant of a legilimens,” Tina said. “She will be needed for the extraction.”

“And Director Graves? I was told he would be present as well,” Sean asked. He was visibly shaken by the change and something else Tina couldn’t put her finger on.

Credence recognized that look, however. After his nightmares, when Percival would stand and look out the small rose window in the corridor outside of their bedroom, his eyes avoided the skyline, the stars, only resting on Credence’s face when the young man would tuck himself beside him. It had to have been the work of Grindelwald; Credence could only guess what other schemes he had been up to last autumn.

Queenie delved in, but found a wall of brick, which also seemed to tremble with anxiety. Must have been the new occlumency training, she concluded.

“He is maintaining the classified nature of the extraction. That is all you need to know,” Tina said.

Auror Mahoney fidgeted but gave in, allowing them to enter the waiting chamber.

Newt seated them on a cluster of cushioned chairs nearby. Sean lingered nearby, eyeing them warily. Newt pulled out his notebook, outlining the extraction process. Credence would drink a numbing agent, with the magi-spectrometer monitoring his energy levels and the obscurus’ vitality as well.

Queenie raised her hand. “I will be monitoring as well. I’m to do some light thought scanning, Credence. If you get too worried or scared—even in sleep—I will be able to know right away and tell Newt. And don’t worry, I won’t disclose your thoughts to anyone. Pinky promise.”

“If that comes to pass, we will stop the procedure and begin again after things have settled. We cannot afford to have the obscurus flare up in strength in the middle of the extraction. Any emotional distress is to be taken seriously.”

“I will do my best,” Credence said. “I will just try to focus on the good things. I’ve been waiting for so long…I won’t let you all down.”

“We’re all so proud of you, Credence,” Tina said. “You’ve played a big part in this too. I remember my auror training well—Percival can be really demanding.”

“A-after this is all done, you’re all invited to the townhouse,” Credence said, beginning to tremble. “I’ll make a giant feast for everyone. I-it’ll be fantastic.”

“Well what are we waiting for then? The promise of a Credence Barebone meal is too good to pass up,” Newt said, beaming as he gathered his things. Tina led them to the adjacent hall.

“Auror Mahoney, where’s the other guard detail for the waiting room?” Tina asked.

“I’m not sure,” he said. “You’re right, there should be one out here as well. I’m to take post outside of the surgical theater, not out here.”

She eyed him suspiciously. Annette Graham must be on his mind, there was no other explanation.

“It would be better to get started as quickly as possible,” Newt said. “The obscurus is so close to expiration...”

“I’ll act as guard out here then,” Tina said. “Auror Mahoney, lead them to the surgical theater and take your assigned post.”

“Yes, Auror Goldstein. This way, everyone.”

“I look forward to your dinner party,” Tina called out to Credence. “I can bring potato salad!”

The hall was pristine, almost sterile. Credence’s heart beat in his throat as he followed Newt and Auror Mahoney.

The theater opened, but thankfully the viewing chambers were empty. A small prep room branched off from the main chamber, which Auror Mahoney led Credence to. He handed him a white paper bag.

“Your operation gown,” he said. “You can change in private in here.”

Credence nodded and took the bag. He closed the door behind him. Shelves of surgical equipment littered the small room, each neatly stowed and displayed for easy access.

He opened the paper bag. The plain garment reminded him of his first stay in the medical ward, when, out of sheer desire and strife, he apparated to Percival. To think of how much he’s grown since then. He reached inside. As soon as he touched the garment, the world jerked beneath his feet. The force of the magic flung him back and forth like a rag doll.

He screamed as the surgical theater spun away from him. He spun wildly in the air, whipping right and left through a roaring tunnel of lights. Before he could begin to cry out, he was ejected from the whirlwind. The momentum of the magic flung him onto hard granite. Pain shot through his knees and elbows and he struggled to stand. The gown floated down from the ceiling and crumpled at his feet. He swung around wildly, trying to get his bearings and quell his nausea.

“Newt? Tina? Queenie?” he said as he spun in circles. “Where are you!?”

The chamber was dim, save for soft lanterns fixed onto the columns. In the center of the room was a low table. On top of it rested a small red box, from which emanated a great heat.

“Mr. Credence Barebone, as I live and breathe,” a woman’s voice called out behind him.

Credence winced and turned around. A witch with long braids approached him from the shadows. She wore a double-breasted coat with glowing runes.

“Who are you? What do you want with me?”

The witch entered the small circle of light. She only grinned and raised her wand. The box before him rattled and rose in the air. He watched as the lid opened, revealing a dark green stone. Credence gasped. The source of Percival’s nightmares floated before him, luring him in with a menacing, yet magnetic aura. He felt as if it stared directly at him, piercing into his being.

He clenched his eyes shut and turned toward the witch, but she had vanished. In her place stood a familiar, sickening face. A set of mismatched eyes narrowed in glee, the white wizard, Gellert Grindelwald.

“Y-you’re, you’re…” But he had no time to verbalize his revelation, as a powerful energy forced him to his knees before the stone. An invisible barrier prevented him from speaking, cutting off his cries.

“It is time I claim my quarry,” Grindelwald said as Credence struggled uselessly before him. “the obscurus is a gift, my lad. With it, you shall accomplish great things. I am not surprised Percival was content to waste it. My time here has indicated nothing else but short-sighted folly. Luckily I am here to correct their behavior.”

He knelt down before Credence and wiped the tears from the young man’s eyes.

“The path ahead of us will be a difficult one, Mr. Barebone, but I guarantee you, the world I create with your latent strength will be a better one for all wizarding kind. You’ve already shown yourself to be readily trained. Let us see what we can do together.”

Credence shook his head back and forth, struggling against his magical bonds. He felt his pulse in his wrists and ankles and his vision blurred about the edges.

“I meant what I said before: you _will_ be honored among wizarding kind. In time, your name shall be recorded in our history books as the harbinger of the Era of Wizards. You will bring about greater things than you ever could have with your coddling Percival. Prepare yourself!”

Behind him, the heat grew greater and greater, until he could almost feel it singing his skin. Grindelwald stood, making grand gestures with his wand. A loud roar echoed through the hall. He craned his neck toward the source. Golden light was tracing the elaborate designs on the surface as the stone rattled and shook. He felt alone in its baleful glare.

Credence screamed beneath his bondage. The stone cracked, billowing into swirling shadow and dust, and consuming the hall around them. Credence left the floor and was sent spiraling into the dark.

 

* * * * *

 

“Credence!” Queenie gasped suddenly. Sean watched her from his post, silently readying his wand.

“What’s the matter, Queenie?” Newt asked.

“My link. I can’t feel him anymore.” She rushed over to the door and knocked rapidly. “Credence? Credence can you hear me?”

As she moved to work the knob, a burst of light shot out from behind them. Her arms and legs shot out, then snapped back to her torso as she fell flat on her back.

Newt tried to ready his wand, but it was shot out of his grip and skid across the floor. He watched Auror Mahoney approach them wordlessly. He knelt to pick up Newt’s suitcase. Newt tried to yell, but was bound. Auror Mahoney tapped the handle, transforming it until it appeared to be an ordinary, black briefcase.

Though she was bound to the floor, Queenie broke through Auror Mahoney’s mental block with her magic. His thoughts swam rapidly amongst one another, racked with trepidation, sorrow, and singing regret.

“He won’t be pleased. He won’t be pleased,” she heard his mind rattle off again and again. “Percival was supposed to be here too. Oh, he won’t be pleased. Damn it all! Damn _him and his blasted stone!_ ”

Sean whipped his wand, casting Queenie and Newt aside. He threw open the storage doors and flung them inside, locking it behind him. Beside her, Newt’s cries pressed against sealed lips.

Sean withdrew a small medallion and checked his watch. As the clock struck nine, the medallion vibrated, and he flew through the portkey’s tunnel. He landed safely in the Department for Ancient Arts & Artifacts. He hunched his shoulders, jumping at every small noise.

The stone rattled and shook in its container. Glass beads spilled out from underneath it. And Grindelwald stood before it like a perverse conductor, quelling the artifact with ancient magics which swirled and cracked like smoky embers.

He turned to glare at Sean. Something was clearly wrong. He could see it on the pathetic auror’s face. The stone stilled and vast quiet drowned them in the storage chamber.

“Where is Percival Graves? I was looking forward to our reunion.”

“I-I-I don’t know. H-he was detained elsewhere,” Sean sputtered. His hands and feet shook. “Please, don’t hurt Annette. I have the suitcase, the magizoologist’s suitcase! Just as you asked!” He sank to his knees in an act of desperate supplication. “Just don’t hurt her, I beg of you.”

Grindelwald flicked his wand and suitcase flew to him.

“Just what I’ve come to expect from MACUSA—half-finished work and wasted resources. To think that even when you have everything to lose, you still fail, Mahoney.”

“I brought you Mr. Barebone, didn’t I? I can fix it, just let me—”

The stone pulsed. The dark wizard trembled and shook. Sean Mahoney looked on in horror. Black smoke enveloped the wizard in an instant. He growled. His skin flushed. The bridge of his nose grew narrower and his cheekbones more pronounced. Dark hair crept among his white locks and subsumed them entirely. His knees barely buckled, but he withstood the ragged transformation.

“Fortunately, we remain undetected; the alarms shall do no work today,” Grindelwald said in an unfamiliar voice.

Sean covered his mouth to silence a gasp. Before him stood Mr. Barebone, the boy he had just deceived.

“Remain here and guard the stone from any intrusion. I will summon Percival Graves on my own. Tamper with the stone, and all inside shall suffer, Mr. Mahoney.”

With that command, Grindelwald calmly exited the chamber, leaving Sean with the stone.

 

* * * * *

 

An electric current ran through Tina. She sprang to her feet. Something was wrong. She couldn’t feel Queenie’s presence any longer. She rushed through the adjacent hall and was shocked to find it barren. When she opened the theater doors, she found the chamber nearly empty. No Credence, no guard. No Newt and Tina. She called out their names. A small scuffle in the nearby storage room caught her ear.

She tried then knob, then worked an unlocking charm to throw the doors open.

Newt and Tina were on the floor, stiff as a board.

 _“Liberatia!”_ she incanted. Slowly sensation returned to their limbs, and Tina felt the familiar hum of Queenie’s legilimency.

“Credence! He’s been taken,” Newt exclaimed. “And my research—the beasts, that scoundrel Mahoney has absconded with them!”

“I’m sounding the alarm,” Tina exclaimed. She rushed over to a security cabinet near the surgical theater’s entrance. She waved her auror badge in front of the lock. Nothing happened. She waved it again and the cabinet remained closed. She whipped out her wand.

_“Bombarda!”_

The door burst, sending slivers of wood flying left and right. The reached in and yanked the red lever. Nothing happened. She pulled three more times, nearly breaking the handle altogether.

“He had access to Ms. Graham’s memories for so long,” Queenie said, “He must have known how to disable the alarms, or at least interrupt them…”

“Where did he go? Did he say anything?” Tina demanded.

“The Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts,” she reported. “He was blocking out his thoughts, but something rattled him. He lost focus. The stone. He thought about the stone!”

“What on earth is he planning there?” Newt said, tremors of fear racking his extremities. “Is there another way to get back-up?”

“Scrambling the auror squadrons in person would take too much time. It might be too late for Credence by then. We need to move. Now!”

 

* * * * *

 

Credence jerked awake, flinging the familiar silvery covers to the floor. His eyes glanced nervously left and right. A sharp pain skewered his head.

He quickly unbuttoned his work shirt. No scar nor sign of injury. Had the operation been a success? He thought that perhaps he passed out. That must have been it. The obscurus must have been extracted, and Percival must have taken him straight home afterwards.

“Percival? Percival?” he called out. No reply.

The room was dim; no light filtered through the crack in the curtains. Was it evening already? He marveled at the sudden passage of time. He wearily swung his legs over the edge of the bed, steadying himself on the nightstand as he approached the window.

Struggling to remember the past hour, he stumbled and caught himself on the windowsill. With a strange sense of trepidation, he slowly opened the curtains.

This couldn’t be right. Beyond the crystal-clear glass was nothing but pitch black. He cupped his hands over the glass and leaned in. He squinted. He couldn’t see Morningside park, or the river. Not even tree branches swayed in the breeze and no streetlamps could be seen.

He turned and quickly ran out of the bedroom and down the hall. His heart seemed to pound on his eardrums directly. He took the stairs two at a time, calling out for Percival. Blackness fogged every window. It seemed to writhe behind the glass, sticking to the window frames.

His hands clapped against his ears. The comforting hum of the city was completely absent, and in its place was a death-like silence. He searched every room of the house, finding each and every article and ornament intact and in place, but no sign of Percival.

He breathed in and out. He recalled the calming exercise Percival taught him. He five things he could see, four he could feel, but he smelled nothing, and he heard nothing! His senses were dulled and hazy, save for the piercing pain, which only seemed to worsen with time.

“Am I…did something go wrong? No, no, it can’t be true. I’m right at home, aren’t I?” he said aloud, clutching his head.

Loud banging shook the front door. Credence thanked his lucky stars. He wasn’t alone! Perhaps this was a side effect of the extraction, he tried to reason. Even Newt couldn’t predict this. This whole business with the extraction was new territory to tread after all.

His heart lightened as he undid the locks. When the last was unlatched, the door burst open. Credence shouted and covered his face with his arms, nearly falling upon the staircase. A dour witch with long braids and a double-breasted trench coat loomed in the doorway. A series of faintly glowing runes rimmed the hems of her sleeves.

Her features were gaunt and ragged, though her eyes burned with an inquisitive spark much like Newt’s. Though when he examined her for a moment more, Credence recognized a familiar beleaguered edge to her gaze, one that cut him frequently at the chapel on Pike Street—torture.

He gathered himself gazed into the blackness over her shoulder. He didn’t know whether it stretched on and on or stopped right beyond the stoop.

“W-who are you? Where did you come from? Where’s Percival?”

“Percival? You mean Director Percival Graves?” She crossed her arms and sighed wearily.

“So you _do_ know him. Where is he? Why can’t I see beyond our front steps?” he asked with a quaking voice.

“So…he’s taken another. Damn it,” she said. “It’s no use hiding this from you.” She reached out into the dark fog, waving her arm with evident struggle. “We are trapped inside a powerful ancient artifact—a stone of deception with the power to overcome your mind and senses.”

“W-what are you talking about? I was right there with Newt and Tina and Queenie at the Woolworth Building—MACUSA.”

“I suppose we are still technically within headquarters…unless he has found a way to escape. The pain…it’s too intense. It’s impossible to know what he’s digging up once he’s inside your head…I have no idea what he’s learned from me.”

“Who? Who has us trapped? Tell me, please!”

The witch’s gaze was filled with dread and ire. “Gellert Grindelwald. If he has recreated your home this clearly, then he has already started to invade your mind. Brace yourself, Credence!”

A glimmer of light danced far in the distance. She looked fearfully over her shoulder and pushed him further inside. In mid step a violent, ravishing burning seized his mind. Credence cried out, hands swiping at his scalp.

The light drew closer and closer, twisting through the darkness. Were it not for his hands clutching his head, he would have thought it was split cleanly in two. She turned toward the light, covering her ears, trying to will it away.

He buckled and fell backwards onto the staircase, withering and crying, the salty burn of tears streaming down his face.

“Help me! Please! M-make it stop!”

“I’m sorry, but I can’t! You’ve got to bear it! Think of happy things, Credence! Fight it! You’ve got to fight it!”

The light pierced through the front windows, shining on Credence like fiery rays of sunlight. The weight overwhelmed him on the staircase, pressing him into the sharp wood. He breathed and heaved, tears drying. The memory of Percival’s hand was all that was keeping him sane: the callus of his palms, the scratch of stubble, the warmth of his skin.

And, as quickly as it came, the light vanished. Credence curled up and retched on the staircase, breathing in deeply. His eyes were wide. He knew this light, this torture. He clutched the railing, using all of his strength to stand. In his haze, something clicked.

“I-I know who you are…the witch that went missing from MACUSA. Percival told me about you. He saw you right before he…came out of the stone. You’re Annette Graham,” Credence sputtered softly. He coughed and heaved on the staircase, utterly winded.

She nodded solemnly. “The very same. But there is no time to talk. The light will return again, young man. If we can get away from this simulacrum, he’ll have to rebuild it again to access your memories. It’ll buy us a little time, if nothing else. Come!”

Grabbed his wrist. She led him from the Graves Estate, or rather, what appeared to be the estate. Crossing the threshold was like diving into murky, thick water. It surrounded Credence on all sides, pressing against every pore. He reached for his wand, but found nothing.

With only Annette as his guide, he plunged further into the dark.

 

* * * * *

 

Percival stood at the top of the foyer’s steps. The crowd was getting out of hand. No longer did photographers and journalists populate it, but secretaries, researchers, and a series of stunned colleagues. Chadwick stood opposite of him, red in the face, ready to spit acid.

“I would never!” he shouted. “The fact of the matter is that Grindelwald has crimes he must answer for back in England. I intend to see justice done.”

“And what of our citizen’s lives? Their well-being depends on MACUSA’s continued retention of the criminal—to abscond with him now would spell doom for three prominent American citizens, smearing the worth of two separate clauses in treaties ratified by the ministry and our congress.

“These treaties are a matter of public record,” Percival said, turning his quiet ire toward the crowd, “I thought that at least _one_ of you journalists would see it fit to fact check, and not give in to his political, self-serving candor.”

“This is not about politics, Mr. Graves, but justice! You Americans have no idea the scars left in Grindelwald’s wake.”

“No idea?” Percival scoffed. He stepped up on a low granite ledge, rallying the crowd at his feet. “For weeks, I had endured unyielding mental intrusion and scourging pain wrought by Gellert Grindelwald. Trapped in his domain, my mind was raided, my skin razed, and time wasted away in shadows and secrets unfit for the cruelest of the wizarding world’s criminals. Now, three of our most prominent staff are suffering the same fate.

“But they do not matter on your ladder to the Minister’s chair, do they Mr. Chadwick? I know for a fact that you intend on running for the position of Minister of Magic. What better way to advertise your competence and excellence than at last bringing infamous Gellert Grindelwald to justice? You dishonor the loved ones of those he murdered, treading on their memory on your warpath. If anyone is to be accused of grandstanding, Mr. Chadwick, it is you.”

The crowd was silent. Some gaped at Percival for making such a severe accusation, but most turned to Chadwick, pens at the ready, eagerly waiting his retort. Stories up, from an overhanging balcony, President Picquery couldn’t help but crack a wry grin as she listened in through her ear-scope.

Out of the corner of his eye, Percival caught a glimpse of something. Dark locks against pale skin, and a familiar hand beckoning him from a distant corner in the grand foyer.

“Credence?” he whispered, eyes wide.

The crowd migrated toward Chadwick, like hounds upon a rabbit. He loosened his tie, grasping for words as the air around him shifted.

Percival scanned the grand foyer. There he was again, standing behind a granite pillar, face hollow and shaken. Percival wasted no time. He carefully removed himself from the debate, just as the crowd rushed toward Chadwick for his reply. From behind him, the camera bulbs ignited like flashes of lightning, dancing on Credence’s skin at the far corner.

As he approached the pillar, the figure ducked behind the pillar, gone by the time Percival reached it.

“Credence, are you there?” he said in a low voice. The journalists were still so near and he couldn’t afford to let his purpose for his presence here to be exposed.

He turned down a narrow offshoot of the grand foyer. At the end of the corridor, he spotted Credence again, dressed in his work shirt and Millenium boots. He rushed down the hall, and Credence fled again.

“What’s wrong. Answer me.”

Credence gave no reply. As soon as he turned the corner, he saw Credence open a passage and step inside.

“Stop, you don’t know where that leads,” Percival scolded him.

He leapt inside after him, always one step behind Credence. The boy was silent, eyes red and distressed. His cheeks were gaunt, skin pallid—as if his months of growth and warm meals had been suddenly negated.

Percival encountered a spiraling staircase, which led several stories down. It was impossible. As soon as he took his first step, Credence was already at the foot of the staircase, wandering to who knows where.

Something was wrong. The extraction procedure must have hit a snag, Percival thought. He couldn’t apparate after the boy without sounding an alarm within MACUSA, so he had to give chase. He took the steps three at a time, desperately trying to get within arm’s reach.

“Credence, slow down! I’m here to help, just tell me what’s hurting you!” Percival said, growing more and more desperate with each misstep.

The image of the boy led him through winding corridors, past confused standers-by, down, down into MACUSA’s depths. They were near the research labs now. They passed The Office of Confiscations and The Curse Corrections Ward, Percival’s heart sinking as they progressed.

“Stop running from me!” Percival called.

Just before reaching a lift, Credence at last stopped. He pulled the lever, opening the grates and stepping inside. The boy’s face was turned away from him, shoulders shaking and quaking. Percival sprinted to close the gap, flying past other staff and officers.

He flew over the lift’s threshold. Credence’s head hung low. He sobbed, shaking as the grate shut behind them.

“My boy, what’s wrong? Where are Newt and the Goldsteins? I’m here now, just let me help you,” Percival said quietly. He reached for Credence’s trembling shoulder and slowly turned the boy to face him.

His face was red from sobbing, tears staining his cheeks. With a delicate thumb, Percival wiped one away.

“What happened, Credence?” he asked. The elevator began its descent seemingly of its own accord. Credence clutched Percival’s wrist. He winced from the force of it.

The sobs turned to churlish chuckles and slowly the boy’s eyes opened. Percival startled backwards, crashing against the metal grates. Those eyes stared gleefully back at him: one light and one dark.

So many weeks of pain. He clutched his temples; merely looking upon those eyes made him sway where he stood. The dark of the elevator shaft consumed them as they descended. Percival could hear nothing except for the beating of his heart. His knees were ready to give out and his skin seemed to tense against the threat of scalding, ubiquitous pain. He felt trapped and alone, the world distant and cold.

“You…you bastard! I could tear you in half, Grindelwald! What have you done with him? Where is he?” Percival growled between flashes of painful memory.

“You know very well where the obscurial is,” Grindelwald replied slyly.

“Do not refer to him that way, you coward.”

“And why not? I meant it as a compliment. He is the crown jewel among obscurials—perhaps the strongest one in history.”

It was sickening to hear Grindelwald’s voice rattle from Credence’s throat. It shook him to the core to know that Credence was trapped where he was, inside that house of horror yet again—the dark green stone. Grindelwald paused for a moment, sorting through a rush of images and memories.

“My, you’ve both been quite busy haven’t you? That Barebone boy has so much potential, in both the magical,” he grinned, “and the carnal. To think you’d waste his magic on something as banal as charms and transfiguration. He has the power help usher in a new era, with my guidance…yet you see it fit to spend in on paltry parlor tricks and a hot stove.”

“And you waste your freedom, Grindelwald. Why stay? You could have been halfway to the harbor by now undetected.”

“Such an escape doesn’t suit my purposes. I want to leave a lasting impression, teach you all here at MACUSA and those abroad a timely lesson.”

A cloud of dark shadows mingled over his features. The lamp in the elevator flickered on and off and where once stood the form of his lover was Gellert Grindelwald in the flesh, his face and hair white as parchment and eyes full of victory.

“I have come for my due, Director,” Grindelwald said. “With the time I’ve put in here, it is only appropriate that I leave with a proportionally larger prize.”

The elevator continued whizzing down the shaft, and it was only then that Percival got his bearings.

“The Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts. You wouldn’t.”

“I thank you all for your diligent stewardship, but the time has come to relieve you of the artifacts, director. You’ve so many tools at your disposal, so much rich, abundant history, and yet their only function now is to collect dust. I will correct your errors—and I will play by your rules to do so.”

Grindelwald cleared his throat, widening those mismatched eyes. He hunched over and clutched his hands behind him. “Doesn’t that please you?” he said using Credence’s voice. “I will follow your word to the letter. Aren’t you happy?”

Percival’s hand twitched. He wanted to reach for his wand, but with Credence really trapped inside the stone, he was at Grindelwald’s mercy. He had no choice but to listen and remain calm. Acting prematurely would surely lead to regret.

“You want to make this quiet, is that it? A clever escape is still fleeing, Grindelwald, even with some extra souvenirs.”

“Perhaps for those who think only in the short term. Fortunately, I have moved beyond your limited scope. A quiet escape now will allow me passage back to Europe, where I can overthrow the oppressive muggle society. I know you won’t risk hurting me. Who else would free your darling Credence?

“Do not take this personally. You come from a proud and noble line of wizards, a pillar we shall need in the coming age. The power in your bloodline would be a terrible thing to waste. The work you and your father before you have accomplished is admirable, if sadly misguided. Credence shall not suffer that indignity; you know how receptive he is to a little training—a guiding hand.”

“I swear if you touch him, there won’t be a shred of you remaining to bury,” Percival growled. Grindelwald grinned in amusement.

“I could kill you and your boy as well, but the larger picture would see you both saved. You both have a place in the new age. I’m not an unreasonable man, Percival. With hope, the lesson I plan to impart to you all today will sink in.”

“Unreasonable? The only thing I’ve learned about today is your astonishing cowardice and lack of responsibility. You’d start war that would consume us all in the name of an imaginary utopia.”

“Isn't every road to paradise built from the bricks of imagination? Soon, we shall reach the DAA’s magical storage and quarantine. On threat of the Barebone lad’s demise, you shall put into effect an emergency directive, allowing Annette Graham to relocate the magical artifacts for safekeeping; the dastardly Gellert Grindelwald has escaped, after all.”

“Why not take them and just be gone?” Percival barked. His wand arm was nearly twitching, rearing for a fight. “If you had a lesson in mind, you have a poor way of teaching it.”

“Your government won’t save you, not from the muggles, and certainly not from those who can exploit it; so long as the wizarding world plays by the muggles’ rules of diplomacy, we shall always lose. I would have us win, director! Your systems will fail you today, tomorrow, and forever so long as our world is suppressed—and worse, modeled after theirs. No number of ratifications, treaties, or constitutions will save you once the muggles decide to rid themselves of us.”

“And what happens when we have no order? No governance?” Percival argued. “Without MACUSA, without the Ministry, we’d be nothing more than marauding outcasts.”

“After your bout with Chadwick, you say that? I ought to be the astonished one. While we’re squabbling among ourselves, the muggles _will_ lose patience with us and catch us off guard. As soon as we become a threat, we shall be their next target. That is what I wish to teach you today. I want to see you all dream as big as I dream, I want to raise us up and take what is rightfully ours!

“I’ve seen what horrors muggles are capable of in the trenches of the Great War: poisonous gas, flaming ichor, a whole generation lying in the mud, tread upon while they choked on their own blood! No. Never again. I will be our savior, and the first stop on my campaign shall be your coffers, Director Percival Graves!”

The light flickered again. The cloying darkness seemed to glide across Percival’s bare skin as it gathered around Grindelwald. The elevator began to slow, making its last stop at the Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts.

Out of the fog and shadow emerged the guise of Annette Graham, still with Grindelwald’s maddened smile painted on her lips.

 

 


	11. The Tomb of Nords

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to apologize for the extremely long wait. I also want to thank everyone who is still subscribed to this story and wants to see it through till the end.
> 
> They say that life happens while you're making plans. In between the publishing of this chapter and the last, so much has happened for me professionally and emotionally. I started a second promising job and left it; I agonized whether to stay in my current city and have decided to make this my last year here; I started a beautiful, but short-lived relationship with a wonderful young man; as I write this note, I am still navigating the radius of my heartbreak, but am hopeful for the future. He is to move from the area in a few short weeks, and that reality caught up with us. 
> 
> And to be honest, writing a bombastic conclusion for Grindelwald's final plot turned out to be more challenging than I thought. Here is the best I can currently muster; I hope it lives up to the standard I set with the rest of the story. 
> 
> In the next chapter, I will tie up some loose ends and have our two sweethearts head to the mountains for some rest and relaxation. Expect that post to manifest more expeditiously! 
> 
> Now, for our last battle!

“Watch where you’re going, Goldstein!”

Tina led the charge through MACUSA’s midday traffic rush, shoving left and right. Newt and Queenie sprinted behind her. They had to make it to the elevator C. It would be the fastest route to the Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted a familiar sight, Credence! She skidded on her heels and took a sharp right. He couldn’t be headed toward the elevators, could he?

Newt collided with a paralegal, scattering young man’s stack of papers as he shouted profuse apologies over his shoulder.

“I saw him!” Tina said. “Credence, wait!"

“Why is he here?” Queenie asked.

“Stop running from me!” Tina heard Percival call out. She saw him fly through the corridor, sending witches and wizards scattering left and right, and without sparing their group a glance.

Down the next corridor, she could hear the grates of the elevator open and shut with a metallic clang.

Tina collided with the grates, watching the lights of the lift descend. She thought quickly.

“Queenie, did you get a read on him?” Newt asked in between deep breaths. “Was that really him?”

“I wasn’t close enough. The thoughts were murky and blocked off. It was impossible to tell. He was either panicked or…or I don’t know what.”

“Then he’s still in danger. Come on, I know another way down,” Tina said.

 

* * * * *

 

The dark encroached upon Credence and Annette, cloying the air, making it difficult to breathe. The obscurus, in its quiet, solemn power, came to mind as he stumbled. The dense shadow clung to him as the obscurus did, wreathing him in viscous, milky strands.

Annette forged on through the fog, with shaky, determined gait. Credence frowned. Annette’s and Percival’s true strength was more apparent to him now more than ever; Percival had spent weeks in this hidden mire, he thought, suffering in isolation. He could last for a few moments—he had to! He tripped and Annette caught him.

“Be careful. The ground may look solid, but up and down have no meaning here,” Annette said. “It’s difficult to get used to, but you must.”

“I understand,” Credence ventured as he stood, “Percival was set free in February. It’s summer now, I can't imagine what you've been through.”

She stopped in her tracks, wringing the life out of her wand. “It’s been that long? Grindelwald has been in my head for that long? Damn him. He must know our security system inside and out by now.” She turned and continued forward. “Who knows what chaos we will encounter once we escape this nightmare.”

“You must have learned _something_ about the stone,” Credence said quietly. “Please tell me. Maybe we can figure this out together.”

She shook her head bitterly. “Without my lab and instruments, I haven’t been able to make much headway. Not to mention my assistants,” she sighed wearily. “I lost track of Madeleine and Lucas weeks ago...”

“Where could they be?”

Annette shrugged. “I can’t be certain, but I believe Grindelwald—if he is indeed controlling that peering light—has been focusing on me. I am Head Researcher, after all. I know more of MACUSA’s machinations than anyone.”

Credence stepped out in front of her, fists balled and trembling at his side, feeling a trembling ball of determination form in his heart. “Which is why we’re going to get out of here. You won’t lose Madeleine and Lucas. And I won’t lose Percival. I-I’ve come too far to give into it, Annette.”

For the first time in many months, Annette smirked, which is the closest she ever came to smiling outright.

“You’re a brave one, aren’t you? Good. I’ve found a few caverns, of sorts, there we can regroup and—“

Before she could finish, a great tremor rushed beneath them, disturbing the layers of shadow into particle and haze, which billowed about them. Credence tumbled. Annette gripped his elbow as they were tossed about in the dark. Amidst the quake was a dull roar, which seemed to emit from miles away, echoing in all directions.

Credence clenched his jaw and covered his ears. He couldn’t say where, but in a small reverberation of the distant fury, he could have sworn he heard the quiet remand of Mary Lou Barebone.

They plummeted, bruising on every joint until the roaring subsided. They came to a quick stop, limbs jerking in response to the sudden stillness. They remained supine for a minute, until Annette gathered her waning stores of strength and pulled herself up. Credence followed, still haunted by the insidiousness of Mary Lou’s voice. He shook himself off and froze.

In the distance, over what seemed to be a horizon line, shined an enticing light.

“I-is that the light? Is he coming for us again?” he uttered.

Annette squinted and shook her head. “No, no. If that were the case, you’d be encased in some type of environment—perhaps where you grew up or where you work, but…this is different. I cannot speak to its purpose.”

Credence found his resolve and did his best to banish Mary Lou from his thoughts. “Then we travel there. It might be a way out.”

“There’s no telling what it might be but…it appears we’ve no choice. Let’s move,” Annette said.

 

* * * * *

 

Percival seethed as they walked. If Grindelwald noticed it, he didn’t show it. He and Grindelwald approached the first security checkpoint, which was attended by Auror Lewis Johnson.

“Researcher Graham! You’ve escaped!” he gasped, spilling his coffee. “What on earth are you doing here? Are you okay?” He stood up and approached a series of thin ropes. “I’ll notify Magical Maladies right away!”

“The pully system is offline. Gellert Grindelwald has escaped from The Oubliette,” Percival warned him.

“Grindelwald—loose!?” Auror Johnson gasped. He yanked the ropes to no avail. Director Graves was right. “Where is he? What is his status?”

Percival shook his head grimly. “I’m enacting emergency directive EPW-20—the ancient artifacts need to be relocated to a safe location at once. We cannot let them fall into the wrong hands.”

“EPW-20, Director Graves?” Auror Johnson gasped. "You're serious."

“We have reason to believe that Grindelwald is headed to Magical Quarantine,” Percival said firmly. “We must act with haste. We cannot allow any more harm to come to MACUSA staff or the journalists in the foyer.” He peered over to Grindelwald, who was putting on a convincing show of fear. “There is no act that Grindelwald wouldn’t stoop to and no strategy he wouldn’t debase himself with,” Percival continued, side-eyeing Grindelwald, “to secure his ambitions.”

“He’ll act secretly,” Grindelwald said using Annette’s voice. “If we hesitate, there may be severe consequences,” he added, glancing imploringly toward Percival.

“I understand,” Auror Johnson said, finding his bravery. “I’ll lead you through the next checkpoint. My ward supervisor should be back from her meeting. We need to hurry!”

Percival watched Grindelwald carefully. His act was well crafted, no doubt the result of countless hours observing Graham in her prison. He clenched his fists as Auror Johnson worked his magic, undoing the locks on the first gate.

He needed to think, focus on his years of training. First and foremost, he needed to comply with his demands, build a foundation of trust. Who knew what pains this bastard was making Credence endure all over again. He’s negotiated countless hostage situations from his years as an auror—he knew he could do this. Letting his emotions dominate would cause nothing but harm—or worse.

Grindelwald was an egotist at core. He could leverage that to his advantage and catch him at a vulnerable and crucial juncture. Perhaps the moment when he laid hands on the artifacts’ transport container, or once their safely away from headquarters. He had options.

When he looked over his shoulder toward Percival, for a fleeting moment, he spotted those mismatched, penetrating eyes. The darker eye in particular seemed disturbed, like a bruise beginning to form on pallid skin. He blinked and his eyes once more assumed Annette’s hazel eyes.

Percival’s jaw clenched and made no sign that he noticed; Grindelwald didn’t seem to, at least. Something was off, and Percival knew that once he discovered what, he would repay Grindelwald’s abuses in kind.

 

* * * * *

 

Credence had no bearing on the passage of time. Inside of the stone, the world appeared to follow different laws. One moment, Annette would be at his side and the next she would be two or three paces in front of him or behind him. Each time he would pivot in panic. She appeared to be accustomed to this sudden twisting of space and he steeled himself little by little.

Low crackling rumbles punctuated the silence, setting his heart racing each time they resounded. Over time, Annette grew unnerved as well.

As he walked, he began to notice small details in the landscape. His toe caught on what appeared to be upturned roots, with black leaves sprouting from their tendrils.

A few minutes later, he saw the blackened, scorched remains of a bonfire, lost to time and shadow. Tiny signs of life such as these began to litter the landscape as they drew near that awe-inducing light. Eventually, they passed withered tents and hollow hovels, each with cracked, stone tools littering them.

“So many campsites,” Credence pondered aloud. “I wonder who lit the bonfires. Just how many people have been trapped here, do you think?”

“Judging from the wear on these articles, the stone must have been cycling through witches and wizards for centuries.” She crouched and picked up a small, stone knife and it crumbled in her grip. “Thinking on these theories has kept my wits about me so far.

“I can relate. When I was living with my adoptive mother, focusing on my reading helped. This stone…It sucks up witches and wizards and fools them into thinking they’re home. It’s like something from a Grimm fairytale.”

“Or legend. Judging from the runic inscriptions on the stone itself, the stone is Scandinavian in origin,” Annette reported.

“I haven’t studied the runes in depth yet. I’m new to magic, you see. It looks like your robes use them as well.”

“Many magical traditions used symbols for evocation and transmutation, but the Nordic ones are among the best preserved and are thus efficacious,” Annette said. “It has long been theorized that the figures of the Nordic pantheon were in reality a group of powerful witches and wizards, worshiped by nomajs and lesser wizards alike. Not much evidence has been found to this effect, but many magi-anthropologists are hesitant to disregard that possibility.”

“Could this stone have belonged to them?”

She stilled, looking upon another extinguished bonfire. She knelt in the dark soil and observed it closer. She shook her head and pressed onwards toward the light, which pressed ever closer on the horizon.

“If it did…then I fear what may follow. If this is truly the realm of the gods, then we may be trespassing.”

She remained silent as they approached the light. Credence held his breath as they drew closer. For all its luminescence at a distance, he was surprised to see the light so dim and frail once they were upon it.

He gazed up into its glow, and he felt it gaze back. The sensation was sadly familiar to him, being watched.

Before he could approach further, a great tremor knocked both of them off their feet. The shadow split open in front of them, rushing air bursting from the crevice. When he opened his eyes, Credence saw the tip of something emerging from the craggy opening.

 

* * * * *

 

The trio was winded from the secret stairwell. They rounded the corner, not knowing what to expect. At the end of the corridor stood the quarantine chambers. They were getting close.

Annette’s voice was carried, echoing, down the hall. Tina froze. She motioned for them to hide behind the pillars. Newt peaked around the corner, spotting Percival Graves in the same navy suit he wore that morning.

“Percival’s here. Thank goodness,” Newt whispered. He glanced over again. “And…is that Researcher Graham? What on earth…?”

“That isn’t her,” Queenie added quietly. “It’s _his_ occlumency. I can feel it. He…he makes a nighttime snowstorm as his wall…Graham’s was a labyrinth—like MACUSA’s headquarters.” She glided in the shadows to a second pillar. “Director Graves is angry. Really, really angry.” She winced and stifled a cry. “Grindelwald…he has Credence!”

“Then that must be Grindelwald. He must have led Percival down here, with Credence as his captive,” Tina said through gritted teeth.

“We don’t have much time,” Newt said. “We must act now, before he absconds with Credence! And my suitcase,” his eyes widened, “there’s no telling what havoc he’d wreak with two obscurus specimens.”

A rattle of magical locks resounded throughout the hall. Tina rushed forward, flicking her wand to catch the checkpoint doors as they were about to shut and re-seal themselves.

“Get ready for a fight,” Tina said. “Grindelwald won’t go quietly.”

Several chambers ahead of them, Percival and Grindelwald proceeded unobstructed. Having Percival immediately present to enact directive EPW-20 was proving to be a great boon, Grindelwald thought.

Percival’s mouth ran through the directive over and over again, stunning each and every auror that heard him speak. He knew each one by heart, allowing him to focus on the small peculiarities that were beginning to show through Grindelwald’s disguise. He was losing control. This was a last ditch effort, Percival thought.

Soon word would reach the surface, but not after the directive was finished and Grindelwald claimed his prize. The transport of these artifacts was on a need-to-know-basis.

Percival let Grindelwald lead the way once they were past the checkpoints. Surely, he knew the layout of Magical Quarantine by now, so Percival allowed Grindelwald to get comfortable in his secret triumph.

A lock of white hair streaked through one of her braids, then two, then three. Perhaps the stone was not so beholden to Grindelwald after all, Percival perceived. Grindewald’s frame shot up an inch, then back down to Annette’s normal height.

He watched carefully as their technicians quickly rehoused the artifacts. Grindelwald pulled up the hood of Annette’s robes, covering the braids.

“Researcher Graham, are you sure you want to supervise? You’ve been under a lot of stress. Director Graves can handle it from here—he’s authorized.”

Grindelwald shook his head. He seemed intently focused and cagey, refusing to speak. Percival did not bring any attention to it, for fear of harm coming to Credence. But he felt the subtle magical energies of Grindelwald’s guise beginning to falter. The other aurors seemed shaken, distracted by the orders at hand. Grindelwald covered his left eye, steadfastly heading to the last chamber.

“And we cannot forget Grindelwald’s stone,” he said, Annette’s voice beginning to fade by degrees. “Come, Director. We have no time to waste.”

Percival followed, keeping one hand on his wand. He felt the probing eyes of the Magical Quarantine staff on his back as he kept step with his tyrant.

 

* * * * *

 

Credence’s vision swayed. The light, splintered and flickering, danced across the crevice. Credence pulled himself to his feet. Using his last reserves of strength, he hauled Annette to her feet. He observed the crack and covered his mouth as the monstrosity emerged. It was a great stone edifice, with elaborate carvings littering its surface.

The stone rattled and shook, but then the two were plunged into abrupt quiet. Their ears rung and they held their breaths, waiting in fearful silence.

“What is it?” he whispered.

“I have no clue,” Annette said. She slowly approached the wall of rock, taking in the carvings and runes. It was nearly ten feet high, and twice that in length. A seam ran near the top of the stone. From between the slabs trickled sparks of light. Across its surface sprawled carvings of a great tree, twisting and winding as if it were living. In its branches, hanging like baubles on a Christmas tree, were depictions of other lands, some warm fields, others littered with frosty pinnacles.

Credence approached a low-relief carving near the bottom middle register of the great stone edifice. What appeared to be a lake stretched out beneath the tree’s base. A figure knelt near the lake’s border, enraptured by his visage in the water.

“What have you found?” Annette asked.

“A man. He’s covering one of his eyes, but he doesn’t look hurt. He looks…awed.” Credence stepped back and took in the stone structure.

“I don’t like this,” Annette said. “Something must have changed if this sarcophagus has erupted from the aether.”

“So it’s a resting place,” Credence said, “Someone very important must be entombed here. Or _something_.” He moved to run his hand over the carving and Annette snatched it away.

“Don’t touch it,” Annette scolded him. “Who knows what powers you could disturb.”

But he was enamored with the reliefs. He lost sight of Annette, kneeling near another section of the carving. This one showed the same man hanging from a tree, limp and lifeless. A few panels later, the figure was lowering himself from its branches. He recognized this imagery.

“Where on earth did it come from? Whoever made it must have been a terribly powerful wizard. Maybe even the same one who created the stone,” Credence said.

“These runes are ancient Norse in origin,” she said. “Though they normally cremated their dead…who could be entombed here?”

He examined the carvings again, staring at the hanging man. “These carvings…they remind me of a story I read about Odin—that pagan god—how he gave up his eye for wisdom and insight at the Well of Urd.”

“Yes, that story had crossed my mind as well,” Annette said. “To think that a few months ago, I probably would’ve given _my_ eye to make a discovery like this. Even if the sarcophagus is empty, the carvings must possess a wealth of knowledge.”

“Warriors must have been memorialized in the confines of this magical stone,” Credence said thinking back on his reading. He looked back at their path, at the tents and graven bonfires. “Perhaps the Valkyries as well...If this world inside the stone were fully populated, it might not look so dark and lonesome. Percival’s house looked like the real thing. Maybe that’s what the stone does—it makes a new home for you.”

“And with the tales of men and women reappearing years after their death…it may be an _honorable_ thing to be enclosed here.” She bit her thumb and made a circle around the sarcophagus. “To think that outsiders would tread in Valhalla itself,” Annette conjectured grimly. "But why now?" she mused.

Credence gazed at the inscription and reimagined an old poster he saw. It was only about a year ago. It was nailed to an electric post a couple neighborhoods away. He was to post New Salemite posters all around the neighborhood. He remembered hesitating to cover the brightly printed illustration.

Women in diaphanous robes floated above a bearded man, who knelt near a pool of water. Vibrant red leaked down his face as he covered his wound. In the water swirled images of men in horned helmets and flying women in winged helms with sharpened spears.

 

“A Pagan Promenade! A Feast for the Eyes and Ears! Playing Now in Marvelous Moving Picture, ‘Odin and the Well of Urd!’”

 

He remembered being compelled to know the whole story. How different these witches were, he had thought then. They looked triumphant and noble, not furtive and ugly, like Mary Lou had told them again and again.

He wandered toward the library, which emerged from the shadows of the stone, posting leaflets along the way, and read a quick story away from prying eyes. A distant voice kept visiting him, but he pressed on, reading the tales of Odin the One-Eyed.

“Credence, you have to wake up!” a distant voice called. Who could that be, he wondered as he sat to read.

He looked over his shoulder, but found no one there. He continued to read, escaping his dreary life through tales of legend. Oh, how they endured, he thought, how lasting and eternal. So different than his small pinprick of a life, he thought.

“Credence, listen to me! Get out of there! Quickly, before it’s too late!” the insistent voice cried.

He lost track of time. He checked the libraries clock and hastily gathered his things. He began to sweat, his heart beating rapidly in his chest.

Mary Lou would be angry. He was late. Oh god, he was late.

He rushed out of the library and all the way back to Pike Street. He couldn’t believe he had been so stupid. He was to prepare the soup today. With no soup, there’d be nothing to keep the children at the church! With no children at the church...

He tripped and fell into the gutter, hitting his head on the stone. He clutched it, cursing his curiosity and his yearning.

A distant voice rung in his ears. He could no longer make out the words. He struggled to get on his back. A wooden splinter pierced his thumb and he winced. The rough wooden floors of the church rose to meet him. He scrambled to his feet. He was trapped by the decrepit church. The floorboard creaked and he spun around, mouth agape.

“Chastity has an interesting story to tell. She tells me you abdicated your responsibilities, that you went to read Heaven-knows-what. Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? Answer me, Credence.”

His hands trembled. His voice was caught in his throat. Before him stood Mary Lou Barebone, belt twisting in her firm grip and cold hatred filling her eyes. The distant voice was like the passing breeze.

“And what unspeakable heathen blasphemy did you choose to read instead?” She slammed the book down on the table. “You sicken me. Try and try and try again, but a sinner’s a sinner.” She cracked the belt like a whip. “Pray to God to mend your shortcomings. I will pave the way.”

 

* * * * * 

 

The vault door swung open, and there, floating on a bed of beads was the burning stone. Grindelwald nearly lost his composure at the sight of it. Percival let him take the lead as they walked in.

“Leave the container there,” she ordered the accompanying auror. “This is a delicate artifact and needs proper handling.” She turned toward the auror. “You wouldn’t want to be trapped inside as well, would you?”

The auror shook his head and quickly stepped outside. He shut the vault behind him, convinced that its metal would protect him from the blasted artifact.

Over his shoulder, Percival heard a weight crumple to the ground. He looked back toward Grindelwald, but he was too enamored with the stone to notice. The artifacts were ready on a specially made cart near the secret lift. Now it was just him, Grindelwald and the stone.

“With this stone, there is nothing I cannot learn,” Grindelwald marveled. “With its vast wisdom and powers, I will lead us all to a new magical paradise.”

“And who will perish along the way?”

“Those who perish in the coming war will be honored,” Grindelwald said simply, reaching out to pluck the stone from its bed. It was heavy and burned his palm, but he did not care. It was as if he were holding wizarding history itself, wielding it like an ennobled hammer. “Just as the warriors of old were honored, their form and memory treasured in these gilded halls.” He cradled it like an infant, drunk on his own fantasy.

“And what is this perverse preservation called?”  Percival growled. “Why do you glorify this hideous mummification?

“The Halls of Valhalla, Odin’s Eye, The Valkyrie. The stone has possessed many names. Not everyone wishes to cast off and tarnish their family’s mantle like you, Percival. That you found it so easy to debase your wizard-rich blood is more disturbing to me than the stone's abilities.”

Grindelwald’s aura shivered. Annette’s clothing began to blur, with Grindewald’s prison garb beginning to seep through. “Come, on with it! Bring me the case and we can begin our trek.”

Percival slowly raised the case’s handle and approached the wizard. In his left pocket, his wand burned. He grazed its tip, silently casting a small spell, one that would not register with Grindelwald in this state.

Behind them, a group of footsteps rushed toward the chamber’s door, though neither noticed in this tense, eternal moment.

As soon as the handle of Newt’s suitcase grazed Grindelwald’s fingertips it flared up in searing blue flames. The stone tumbled from his grip as he cast the suitcase away on impulse. Annette’s braids shrunk back into his head, replaced by his pale undercut. His features twisted and jerked, and soon the man’s visage stared back at Percival, dripping with anger.

“You’d throw dear Credence away that easily? I am shocked that you’d reject a world where you’d both be able to live out in the open. To think that your love for MACUSA is greater than for him.” He whipped his wand and the stone floated back to its red box.

Percival braced himself for a magical retort. He raised his wand, ready to deflect any blow. He glanced at the stone and his heart skipped a beat. Somewhere deep inside, Credence was stumbling in the dark, all alone save for the beating of his heart and panicked breaths. His grip on his wand tightened and he shook off the last remaining shreds of hesitation.

He would free Credence, and he’d gladly tear Grindelwald limb from limb to do it.

Just as he raised his wand, the doors burst open behind him in a great concussive blast. Dust and smoke filled the room. Grindelwald flicked his wand. A swirling gust blasted the debris out of the chamber. Three swirling balls of sparks issued back at him. He swung his wand in a wide arc, casting the sparks aside.

“This stops here!” Tina called out. “Percival, are you alright?”

“For the time being.”

“Now for some tidying up,” Queenie said.

“Am I going mad?” Grindelwald cried. “You would all throw away your freedom—submit yourself to _muggle domination_ —all for the sake of that Barebone?”

Percival grit his teeth and lunged forward, sending swathing lights toward Grindelwald. It was useless to reply. The only thing Grindelwald offered was fresh tyranny.

Grindelwald suffocated the lights in miasmic smoke, taking time to deflect the additional rays from Percival’s sudden backup.

Newt circled about the room, searching for his briefcase. He darted in and out of view as the three fought. An arrow of flame seared the wall above his head. Tumbling, his eyes darted about the room for that brown suitcase.

Queenie hid behind a pillar, gasping for breath. It had been awhile since she dueled last. She watched Tina and Percival from behind the pillar, waiting for a time to take a jab at Grindelwald.

Percival kept his breathing even, deflecting each spike of energy and responding in kind. Grindelwald sneered and made a loop with the tip of his wand. The surrounding debris condensed about his ankles, forming a chain of stone, securing him to the spot.

Yanking on the chain, Percival swept his wand and dissolved the chain into sand. A flicker of lights rushed over his right shoulder, keeping Grindelwald at bay. Over his left, he heard a rattling inside of the box.

A green burst of air flew over his shoulder and to the doorway. Once over the threshold, the mass of vapor expanded, covering the entire opening. Percival threw a stone toward the wall of vapor. It froze in the spot, splintering under massive pressure.

“No escape now. And no second chances,” Grindelwald cackled. He swung around toward the stone. It rattled violently in the red chest. "It will, indeed, end here."

 

* * * * *

 

The cold floorboards were just as he remembered—cold, splintered, and worn from his own limping footsteps. The ceiling was low, hovering like a storm-filled cloud. He was back. Credence couldn’t believe it. His heart practically hummed in his chest. Darkness clouded the corners of his vision. Whether it was his panic or the encroaching darkness of the stone, he could not discern.

The image of Percival faded in his mind, subsumed by Mary Lou’s penetrating gaze. Annette’s voice—if she still yet called to him—had faded entirely.

Slow, calculated footsteps sounded behind him up the stairs. His hands worked automatically. The routine was burned into his mind. He knew what was coming next. The finely crafted belt from Shepard & Co., slid from his belt loops, the silver buckle gleaming in the low light.

“Fortunately, I know what you ought to disavow. Chastity had the good sense to follow you to the library. She uncovered your sin-ridden literature." Mary Lou said sullenly behind him. She gripped his shoulder, digging into his skin. “Now, will you seek forgiveness?”

Something dark lurched and shifted in his chest. The belt slipped from his fingers. He collapsed to his knees and clutched his chest.

“Yes, you know. You know the darkness that lurks like the Demon,” Mary Lou said, voice dripping with malice.

He drew his breaths raggedly. Dark encroached on the edges of his vision. Whether his hands trembled against his chest or his heart sent tremors through his fingers, he did not know.

Mary Lou gripped the belt. The buckle caught the light and it danced in its elaborate filigrees. Then, dark smoke clouded his sight.

“Now, uncover that sinful hide,” Mary Lou said. “Let your pain be penitence for your sin. Just as Our Lord paid in his blood.” The belt cracked like a whip.

Credence’s mouth opened in a silent cry. His veins bulged from the backs of his hand and a grand vibration rushed through his system, soaking all sight and sound in a cloak of slithering shadows. The last thing he felt was his feet leaving the floor.

The obscurus was set loose! His body rushed up to the ceiling. His eyes rolled back into his skull. A great roar rattled the church, rocking it down to its very foundation.

Credence knew this force and anguished in its sudden, visceral renewal. The obscurus poured from one room to the next, rattling the church, ripping out runners and wooden moldings in its destructive wake. Mary Lou’s cries of vilifying cries rang as the obscurus’ energies sundered the supporting beams.

He would destroy every last bit of the church, every last memory and scar. He would escape this hollow prison, break through the edge of the abyss. He would find Grindelwald and drain him of every last heartbeat. 

Boards and brick swirled about the obscurus in its rampage. The shadow of Mary Lou shrieked and dissolved as the church splintered into oblivion.

The frothing forces of the obscurus wiped everything away, like a great salty wave grinding stone into sand. Credence poured years of hate and suffering into the effort, determined to wipe it away from his mind. 

 

* * * * *

 

From a distance, Annette watched the cataclysm unfold. The black amorphous form swept the church into the air, devouring it to pieces. She covered her mouth in awe.

“The obscurus! It’s here? How on earth did it get here?”

A rumble echoed behind her. She looked back, hesitant to loose sight of the dreaded obscurus. The stone slab atop the sarcophagus grinded slowly away. Flickering lights danced from the opening, littering the air with sparks of old magic.

She jumped back, ready to run, but too rapt in curiosity to take her first step.

The lid flew off and crashed into a nearby pillar. A hollow bellow erupted from the tomb, followed in kind by a howling over her shoulder. She looked back. The wooden church was utterly destroyed, practically razed to the ground. The dancing sparks of the obscurus rushed to her over the horizon. She had to flee, had to hide, but was rooted to the ground by awe.

A mummified hand, several times bigger than her own, crept over the side. A wheezy breath issued from within the sarcophagus. A second hand grasped the opposite edge. Ancient dust plumed in the air. Annette stepped back. With a guttural howl, a monumental figure hoisted itself from its resting place, standing nearly a story high.

Annette’s scream died in her throat. The entity, clothed in ancient, fraying robes, stared out at the horizon with one massive dark eye. His other socket was hollow and withered. Atop its crown were wreaths of pine, roots, and branches, and its long hair was braided and thick as rope. Beneath its ragged robes shone a worn breastplate.

Its mouth opened in ancient protest. She glanced over her shoulder. The obscurus was practically on top of them. She ducked down in the darkened soil and screamed as it rushed over her.

A moment of quiet, and the obscurus enveloped the ancient being. The entity roared as the dark cloud submerged him in a realm not his own. Its fingers fragmented into dust. Cracks exploded over its entire form, letting out jets of magical forces.

As the entity was subdued by the weight of the obscurus' rage. Annette heard a the sound of cracking gemstone. She covered her ears willing it to stop. Cracking and crumbling echoed throughout the stone’s realm, deafening her ears, and shaking her body.

Then, from behind her shut eyes, she witnessed a rapidly expanding light explode overhead. She was suddenly ensconced in a different darkness; no longer did the dark cling to her robes, but instead it drifted in sparking smoke. The air left her lungs and suddenly her stomach felt as if it were in the tips of her toes as her body rushed into the air.

After a few moments of jarring movement, she was still, with cold stone tiles beneath her fingertips.

 

* * * * *

 

An unexpected blast threw Queenie off her feet. Grindelwald, mad with vengeance, whipped his wand back and forth. Tina focused on guarding the incoming blasts as Percival neared him, shunting each burst to the side, fragmenting the brick walls.

Newt tended to Queenie, pulling her behind a pillar before reaching back for his suitcase. He racked his brain on what could help. Grindelwald fought with every last ounce of strength and ferocity.

Without warning, the lid of the red box behind Grindelwald shot off of its hinges. Waves of heat and the smell of wood smoke enveloped them all.

“No!” Grindelwald cried. “I had time! Why is it depleted now?” He stepped back toward the remains of the box. The glass beads spilled out onto the floor. “I had time!” he cried. Percival saw his opening and transfigured the beads into oil slick. Grindelwald lost his footing and tumbled to the ground.

The room grew intensely hot. The dark green stone levitated in mid-air, pulsing with uncontrollable force. Splinters erupted on the surface. Fragments of the stone fell away and dissolved into fine particles.

Grindelwald writhed on the ground, clutching his dark eye, cursing everything as he convulsed with pain and shock.

“Credence! No!” Percival shouted.

“Percival, get down!” Tina commanded.

As Percival sprinted toward the stone, a final resounding crack echoed throughout the chamber. The two halves of the stone fell to the ground, brittle and dark as mere charcoal.

Newt watched from behind the pillar. Amidst the ancient magic, he recognized a seething energy. Quickly he unlatched his suit case and pointed his wand towards the magical epicenter. He uttered a single spell, _"Encapsulo!"_ A glowing orb shot through the shadows toward his quarry.

The wall of green vapor dissipated and the swirling shadows erupted into the halls and into the group of surrounding aurors who had gathered to ready the second line of defense. Just as Percival neared his wit’s end, a resounding silence followed, punctuated only by deep, labored breaths of Grindelwald.

Tina wiped her eyes and brought herself to her feet. She gasped. Lying near the remains of the red box was a familiar sight—three MACUSA researchers, garbed in rune-covered robes.

“Annette Graham!” she gasped.

A trio of blue ropes shot from her right, knotting themselves about Grindelwald’s wrists and ankles. Percival lowered his wand and addressed the figure at his feet, tears welling in his eyes. He collapsed to his knees, enveloping the young man.

“Credence? Credence, say something!” he knelt down, pulling Credence’s arm over his shoulder.He was bruised and battered, but breathing, with no sign of further injury.

A group of aurors gathered at the door, wands at the ready. Percival followed their gaze. A glowing blue orb drifted down from the vaulted ceiling, coaxed by Newt into his waiting briefcase. He jumped down to follow the orb.

“Welcome to your new home, old chap,” he said. “I think you’ll like it here.” Slowly he guided the orb to the wintry clearing, toward its new companion.

Outside of the briefcase, Percival dragged Credence to the doorway. “Well, don’t just stand there, mobilize and notify Magical Maladies! What do we pay you for?” Percival barked at the aurors.

“We have five wounded that need attention right away,” Tina added from the back of the chamber. She lifted Annette to her feet. Immediately, she was alert.

“My…where are my...?” she murmured. Her breath caught in her throat. She nearly tripped over her weary feet running toward to her two assistants. “Thank god!” she exclaimed. “They’ve made it out.”

Several gurneys were levitated into the room, followed by several security staff and a detainer. Tina helped Queenie up, giving her a hug as she was led off by the medics.

“To think I’ll enjoy going back to wand forms,” Queenie chuckled meekly.

Percival gingerly lifted Credence up, utterly spent from the battle. Credence’s eyes opened slowly as he lay down. He softly squeezed Percival’s hand. “W-where am I? A-are you…? Percival?"

He stroked Credence’s cheek. “Yes, I’m myself. You’re free, my boy. You have nothing to worry about. Well done, my darling." He leaned down and kissed Credence's forehead.

“W-what's going to happen? What now?"

“I’ve some business to attend to. I will be with you as soon as possible, Credence.”

Credence breathed a sigh of relief as the gurneys carried him out of the door. “And no goddamn restraints!” Percival called after the medics. “Anyone caught restraining these members of staff will be up for immediate termination, you hear?”

A gurgling cackle erupted behind him. Two security staff were disarming Grindelwald and readying him for detainment.To Percival’s surprise, his eyes were now matching, both an icy blue. Blood steadily streamed from his left eye, as if it were forced back into the socket.

“You’ll spoil him, you realize,” he taunted with a wheeze. “Make him weak, vulnerable to muggles and wizard alike. Utterly useless.” He coughed, blood staining his shirt. “Not that he’s of any use anymore. The obscurus is gone, dissipated into nothing, and taking everything with it to the void.”

Tina glanced toward Percival and she joined him at the back of the chamber.

“You’re no better than an English archaeologist at the noble Coliseum. Breaking apart the ancient, noble stones for a trifling sample, no, a pointless souvenir to frame in dust on your den’s mantle.”

“That’s enough out of you,” Tina shot back. “Speaking of useless,” she began to collect the broken pieces of Grindelwald’s wand but was staid by Percival.

“I’ll fess up to it, now that he’s lost the battle.” Percival knelt down, meeting Grindelwald eye to eye. “Though I’m known for my strict adherence to procedure, I can be quite generous when the mood strikes me.” He reached in his breast pocket to retrieve his jasper pen. He found it quite out of shape, the nib crooked and curled and the body of it warped from the battle.

“No matter,” he said, rising to his feet. “I can deliver the order verbally, then.” He jerked his heads and his aurors sprung into action.

Grindelwald was hauled to his feet and forced to march. Percival led the group of aurors to the surface, through checkpoint after checkpoint, burdened by shocked stares and shell-shocked gazes.

When they reached the lobby, improvisational screamer notes were sounding the all clear announcements. The aurors moved from the exits, allowing the normal wizarding citizenry to go about their days. 

Seraphina and Representative Chadwick were there to meet their squads of aurors, still wreathed by a squad of guards. One could hear a pin drop as Percival, Tina, and their victorious promenade marched into the Grand Foyer.

“Mr. Graves,” Chadwick gasped. “What on earth happened down there?"

“The bulk of that is classified at this time,” Percival replied evenly. “However,” he nodded toward the detainers, who brought Grindelwald to the fore of their group. Gasps of shock resounded throughout the onlooking crowd, followed by the furious scribble of the journalists' pens. Immediately, and ocean of flashing bulbs sparked in front of them. Percival straightened his tie and slicked back his hair. Seraphina grinned slyly.

“We have successfully freed his remaining captives," Percival announced to the crowd. 

“And the means of capture?” Picquery ventured rhetorically.

“We shall let DA&A handle it from there. It is, for the time being, negated. He is no longer able to capture and mentally interrogate his prisoners. Our work here is finished. No business chains captive Gellert Grindelwald here any longer."

“Very well, then.” Seraphina turned to her secretary, who gave her a piece of parchment. The pen danced in the air. “Per our agreement, agreed upon by myself and the Magical Congress, I officially pass Grindelwald into your custody, Representative Chadwick."

Representative Chadwick stood there with jaw agape, utterly flummoxed by the rapid change in negotiations. He was to win Grindelwald back by shrewd and practiced debate, not a windfall. With no other means to display his powers of negotiation, he was left speechless. He had caused such an uproar, nigh embarrassing his motherland.

“Well don’t just stand there. We did our job, now do yours,” Picquery commanded Representative Chadwick. 

Percival smiled as he made his last bumbling remarks, liberated at last from his white-haired menace. Tina cracked her neck and smiled at him.

"Do you think we can negotiate a raise, Director Graves."

"Consider it done, Goldstein."

 

 


	12. Epilogue: The Peak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for: Sleepy campfires, sweets, awkward marriage proposals, and finally earning that explicit rating.

The evening sun filtered through the panes of the greenhouse. Tucked away in the middle of Central Park, the greenhouse cultivated a breadth of magical flora, which Credence tended to with great care under the tutelage of Mrs. Albina.

“Off for the long weekend? The cabin, wasn’t it?” Mrs. Albina asked. She pushed up her glasses and read from a lengthy list of samples.

“Yes, ma’am,” Credence replied. He packed his bag and planned his route back home. Mrs. Alvarez handed him a sheet and he scanned it diligently, recognizing most of the names.

“Now, this is not an assignment, but if you have the time many of these will be ripening soon. If you can spot a sample or two and bring them here, I’d be very grateful.”

“I’ll look if we have the time. I’m trying to convince Percival to go hiking with me; says he might bring some work to catch up on. Hope he doesn’t though.”

“What nonsense. Isn’t it your anniversary this weekend, dear?”

“Well, sort of. Don’t really know where to place it on the calendar, really.”

“Pin it to Saturday then. That way he won’t think of lifting a pen,” Mrs. Alvarez chuckled.

Credence laughed and slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll consider it. Thank you for the lesson, as always. See you next Tuesday!”

She waved as she began work repotting a shimmering fern. Credence took care to make his way through the enchanted brush, waiting until the coast was clear of no-majs. First was to stop near a newsstand.

Credence handed the young man, who nodded knowingly, a few coins for two special copies—one to read and the other for his burgeoning scrapbook. He glanced at the frontpage as he made his way through the park.

 

“….Annette Graham, Head Researcher of MACUSA’s Department of Ancient Arts & Artifacts, will be accompanying the as-of-now unidentified remains of the stone and the body to Norway for further research and analysis. In recent weeks, several nativist wizarding groups have demanded the remains to their territories. A meeting between MACUSA and delegates from Scandinavia is set for the week following Graham’s departure….”

The more he read about what transpired inside of the stone, or "The Eye of Odin" as some more gossipy publications called it, the less he believed that any of it had transpired in the first place. It was all too surreal to be true, even for his fellow witches and wizards. Despite the depth of mystery that remained, he was sure the remains of the stone and the giant were in good hands. Perhaps Annette Graham could uncover truths that hid in other legends as well. What a time to be alive!

He tucked it away and made his way toward the address Queenie shared with him. “A sweet surprise,” she had said. The autumnal winds blew through the city, ruffling woolen suits and frocks. He tightened his scarf, catching a whiff of Percival’s cologne. So much work to be done tonight!

Further down the street, he spotted the store front. “Kowalski’s Quality Baked Goods,” the sign read. He spotted a flash of pink through the window, past the tantalizing wall of flaky pastries. Queenie, no doubt.

“Credence, hi!” she said, throwing her arms about his shoulders as he entered. “There’s someone special I want you to meet.”

Behind the counter, untying his apron and bidding goodnight to his last bakers, was a stout man with a thick moustache and kind eyes, tinged with unmistakable vitality.

“Is this who I think it is?” the stout man asked.

“Yes Jacob, this is Credence Barebone,” she paused for a moment, seeking others through their stray thoughts, “Mr. Graves’ beau.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Kowalski,” Credence said, holding out his hand.

Jacob gave if a firm shake, getting powdered sugar on his sleeve cuff. “You can call me Jacob.” He clapped his hands and reached below the counter. “Now, onto business.” He pulled out a white cardboard box and carefully lifted the top, revealing a heavenly tiered cake. Atop the periwinkle blue frosting sat berries and mint leaves arranged just so. At the base sat a cookie sculpture in the shape of a suitcase.

“And once you bite inside,” Jacob said excitedly, “You’ll find a few of these guys!” He displayed a handful of shortbread cookies in the shape of magical creatures, some Credence could name and others he had not seen.

“Jacob, this is amazing,” Credence said. “Newt will like it for sure! Say, now that I think of it, we can set another place for you at dinner tonight, if you like. We haven’t done the shopping yet, we could easily adjust the recipes.”

Queenie frowned slightly and covered the cake with the lid. “Well, you see…”

“Now that’s real nice of you, Credence. Really, I appreciate it, but Queenie and I,” he squeezed Queenie’s hand, “Queenie and I, kinda have to keep this all on the hush hush. Wizarding world isn’t ready for a love like ours.”

Queenie smiled sadly and nodded. “Now when you see everyone tonight, just make sure not to tell them where we got the cake. Mr. Graves and Tina they’d…they’d have to make him forget all about me. And I just had to get Newt a cake from Jacob before he goes!”

For a moment, Credence was incensed; he knew the laws, but could not get over the need for utter secrecy. He understood the overbearing pain of forced secrecy, but, not wanting to distress a new acquaintance, he crossed his heart and promised them.

“Your secret’s safe with me, Queenie,” Credence reassured them. “I’m certain the cake will be the star of the night, Jacob.” Jacob smiled and gently placed the cake in paper bag. “I’d like to come around again, if that’s okay? Everything looks so wonderful, it’d be a shame not to.”

“Yeah, definitely, Credence! We’d appreciate the business and, uh, if you wanna share any stories about your, y’know, _magic_ things, I wouldn’t mind that either. Just so you know. With Newt leaving and all, I’ll need another source of inspiration, you know.”

“Is that where you get your pastry ideas from?” Credence asked. “I couldn’t help but notice the—”

“Hippogriffs? Aren’t they a hoot? Used swirls of cinnamon for the texture of the feathers. Got ‘em back ordered for weeks. The Big Apple can’t get enough of these!”

They all sat chatting with Jacob over a cup of coffee. He boasted proudly about his business, watching him swell with pride. The loan had already been paid off and now he was thinking of getting a place of his own. Queenie blushed just thinking about it.

“I’ll have to let Newt know before he sets sail,” Jacob said. “By the time he gets back, I should be all settled in!”

As Credence parted with them, cake in hand, he said he would return to visit. Queenie said she would see him later that evening and grinned mischievously, locking the bakery doors behind him.

He made his way downtown, careful of any bumps in the pavement and of the delicate package in hand—wouldn’t want to squash Newt’s cake. He was to meet Tina at Mrs. Popowski’s market and there they would plan tonight’s feast, at Tina’s insistence.

 

 

* * * * * 

 

 

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” Tina said, glumly taking in the vast array of pots and pans.

“You said you wanted to make dinner,” Queenie said, retrieving their utensils and supplies. “Change your mind?” she asked kindly.

“I can step in if you like,” Credence added from the dining room, “Newt doesn’t have to know.”

“Very funny,” Tina said. She poured over the recipe, hand beginning to quake. “Get ahold of yourself, Porpentina Goldstein! If you can handle evil warlocks, you can make a roast that tastes like it should.”

“That’s the spirit, sister,” Queenie said. “We know you have this under control, but do let us know if you’d like some assistance.”

Credence’s reassurances carried up the stairs to the study. Percival poured himself and Newt glasses of bourbon, as the latter took in the vast library.

“Shame I never got the chance to explore this more,” Newt said.

“Says the one setting sail for China tomorrow,” Percival said. “Don’t worry, this library will be here when you return—and we both know you’ll be returning.”

“Of course! The obscurus research will need fine tuning and interpretation,” Newt said, taking a nervous sip. “Not that I don’t trust your people, of course.”

“Oh, is that all?” Percival said, leaning against his desk. “You won’t be coming back for any other reason?”

“And, well, it will be nice to check in on Credence and Queenie and MACUSA and—”

“I think you’re forgetting something.”

“And Tina, of course, how silly of me,” Newt added, his face was flushed and hand shaking ever so slightly. Percival nodded toward the floor where a small box lay almost lost. Newt Swiftly snatched it up. “Please ignore that. Must’ve fallen out of my pocket.”

“Your pocket? That’s quite accessible,” Percival chuckled. “Don’t make that face, Newt, I’m only giving you a hard time.”

“I’m just waiting for the right moment. Besides, I’m not the only one with designs. I’m certain! What about your long weekend?” Newt prodded back, grinning. “Lakeside in the mountains, campfires, and lovely seclusion. All on the eve of your meeting, give or take. Don’t study animal behavior for nothing.” He traced the shelves of Credence’s books—texts, vintage printings, limited-edition bindings—and gave Percival a playfully wary eye.

“I guess I’m caught red-handed; we are planning some animal behavior, after all. I’ll thank you for not spoiling the surprise tonight,” Percival said simply, finishing his last sip and placing a small velvet box of his own on the minibar. Newt nearly choked on his drink.

“You, you mean now? This weekend? Way to up the ante, Percival! Now Queenie’s wedding-bell alarms will be ringing and my surprise will be spoiled as well.”

“You said you were waiting for your chance, Newt,” Percival said giving a hearty chuckle. He pat Newt on the shoulder and beckoned him to sit. “I’ve never had the chance to properly thank you, Newt. For your help with Credence, not to mention that monster, Grindelwald.”

“I don’t need thanking,” Newt said, gazing out of the window at the night sky. “People who do good for a thank you chaff me.”

“Then think of this as an investment instead of a thank you,” Percival said, handing Newt a slip of paper, signed with his signature hue of ink. “For your research—an anonymous donation.”

Newt gazed at the check and neatly folded it, placing it in his breast pocket. “I will…examine this later. Thank you.”

“Now, now, if we start this chain of thanks, it will never end,” Percival said.

A great crash of pots and pans resounded from downstairs. Newt winced and shot up from his seat, rushing to the door of the study with Percival.

“Everything is all right!” Tina shouted from downstairs. “No need to check up on me! I have this all under control!”

“Oh, how I love that woman,” Newt mused.

The uproar in the kitchen lasted for some time until Credence rang the dinner bell, summoning all to the dining table, which was set with care. Newt took the head of the table as the guest of honor and Queenie took to liberally pouring the wine. Credence rolled out a silver cart, topped with an elaborate lid. Tina followed, exhausted but proud, and was the one to lift the lid, revealing a handsome roast with all the trimming. Beneath it were fresh rolls, gravy, and vegetables topped with butter and dill. She reached for the platters but was cut off by Credence, who asked her to take her seat.

“Your work is all done,” he said kindly. “And you’ll not lift a finger to clean, understand?”

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t going to offer,” Tina said, thinking of the mountain of dishes she managed to create.

In no time, all were at the table, with Newt standing to lead a toast, much to his chagrin. Credence grasped Percival’s hand, whose heart was racing in his chest.

“Well, we are all gathered here to…uh, say farewell—for now, at least—and to thank everyone for committing to the obscurus effort, to Annette Graham’s rescue, and to one another. As you all know, I make many, many friends in my travels, but never so much on the human end of the spectrum. I am just so thankful and blessed to be able to call all of you my friends,” he glanced at Tina who looked toward him expectantly, he instinctively reached for his pocket for the ring, as he had done so for days on end, to check if it still remained, “and one of you _even more so._ Now, it would be a shame to let all of Tina’s hard work go cold on our plates, so, uh, let’s begin!”

“Bravo, Newt, bravo!” Queenie said, clapping happily.

Before their forks and knives could be raised, Credence stood abruptly, startling Percival and Queenie. “I would just like to add one more thing, Newt.” He turned to Percival, meeting the older man’s gaze with sweet intentions. “Over three years ago, I met a man who introduced me to a world I thought I’d never engage in, who let me know that I wasn’t alone, and that I deserved more. Needed more.” He laced his fingers with Percival’s. “And because of all of you, and all your kindness and bravery and generosity, I’m standing with someone to call my own, with friends to call my own.” He shoved his hands in his pocket and pulled out a small box carved from oak. “We’re here together not to say goodbye, but to greet our new lives.” He fumbled with the box, unhinging the lid and slowly offering it to Percival. “So, I just wanted to ask, Percival, will you marry me?”

Queenie shrieked with joy and Tina snatched a napkin to soak her sudden profuse tears.

“Ah, to hell with the fireside proposal,” Percival said. He whipped out a box of his own and offered a ring to Credence in return. “You really are full of surprises, my boy,” he said fondly, slipping the ring on Credence’s finger and accepting another in return. Without another word, Credence pulled Percival in by the jaw and kissed the older man, heart pounding like timpani.

“Does that mean yes?” Credence asked.

“Of course, Credence. I accept your proposal without an ounce of hesitation.”

“My goodness,” Newt said, “that means another toast is in order!” His stomach growled in harsh reproach. “Or we can wait for more toasts at dessert.”

“Oh, I love you all so much!” Tina bellowed from the corner as Queenie dabbed her eyes with her pink handkerchief.

 

 

* * * * *

 

 

The sun had yet to rise by the time the cohort arrived at the docks. Credence wrapped Percival’s scarf tightly around his neck to keep out the cold, and Percival did the same for Credence, nuzzling in his ear once the others pulled out ahead. A stout man with a cardboard package ran to meet the trio ahead of them, but Percival paid him no mind. With Credence latched onto him like this, the rest of the world pulled back in his thoughts. The glint of the ring on his finger was all Percival could focus on.

He was sure Credence was spent from the night before. After the remains of the nights revelries were neatened up, Credence collapsed into bed, pulling Percival close, mouth open and wanting. Percival drank of him deeply, adoring every inch of Credence’s skin, letting their bodies writhe together as Credence took him in. To think he still had the long weekend ahead of him—with no work and with strict instructions from Credence to not let the world creep into their much-needed time off.

A worthy vessel blared its horn as the group approached the shoreline. What a sight it was, imposing and noble. Newt had his trusty suitcase in tow and his hand in Tina’s. He swung an arm about the stout man’s shoulders with a promise of extensive letters and trinkets.

“See you later pal,” Jacob said, slinking away into a group of no-majs once Percival and Credence approached. Credence spotted a tender wave on the part of Queenie, but said nothing. Soon MACUSA would be ready for them, just as it embraced him and the obscurus.

Credence held out his arms and embraced Newt. All of their thanks and goodbyes had been said, and he promised Newt to tell of his progress in his magical tutelage. The group was almost at a loss for words, though Queenie was picking up a white rapid’s worth of thoughts.

“It’s just like Credence said, isn’t it? This is a new tomorrow,” she said brightly.

The harbor master was calling for the last passengers to board. Newt gave Tina’s hand a squeeze and said a simple and unadorned, “Until next time.”

Tina hugged him and off he was, to seek new, fantastic beasts. Once the ship grew tiny on the horizon, Percival checked his watch. “We should to get going too, my boy. The train will be boarding soon.”

Credence nodded and pat Tina on the shoulder. “What are you up to today, Tina? Anything to keep you busy?”

She sighed and turned her back on the sunrise. “MACUSA will, don’t worry.” She glanced at Percival. “And with all due respect, just let MACUSA be MACUSA until the long weekend is over, okay Percival?”

“We promise not to let anything happen while you’re away,” Queenie added innocently.

Percival threw her a glance that said, “Contact me immediately if anything needs dire attention. I will come by broomstick if I have to.”

Queenie sighed and hooked her arm around Tina’s. “Now, now, don’t fret, Tina. Newt will return soon. In the meantime, I know a great place to get some tops croissants on the way to the office.”

They waved farewell and Credence, holding onto Percival’s elbow, was led to a quiet corner near the docks, out of sight and bathed in shadow. He gave Credence a brief kiss before the snap of apparition filled his ears. The golden light of Central Station filled the grand hall and, as if they had been there secreting themselves away, the two emerged from behind a light fixture.

A cart with two modestly sized trunks was wheeled over to them by a young lady whom Percival handed a small parcel. “Keep the change.”

He pushed the cart as Credence followed. Without missing a beat from Tina’s subtle remonstrations, he touched the small of Credence’s back. “And don’t think you’ll get away with doing homework on our little vacation, my boy,” he said, gazing deeply at the young man beside him. “I intend on keeping you very busy.”

Credence felt the heat rush to his face and before his brief fantasies flitted by into nothing, he felt the tiniest pinch on his rear and jumped. He glanced at Percival with playful ire and was met with a look of innocence that did not rest easily on Percival’s features. They chatted about the hills and the weather.  Credence was quite excited about their excursion out of the city, as those were nigh non-existent in his youth. He was envious of Percival’s time at Ilvermorny.

“You must tell me about the mountaintops on the ride up,” Credence said.

“I’ll wrack the old brains and see what I can come up with,” Percival said. “Spent a lot of time in those woods—mostly searching out ne’er-do-wells in the forest for the student council.”

The two arrived at the platform where their trunks were loaded. They passed through the sparse morning riders and found their car near the middle of the train. Credence could sense it was ensorcelled, as very few passengers approached the car, let alone boarded. With Percival holding his hand, Credence stepped up into the car, tickets at the ready. He felt a slight tug and turned toward Percival, whose eyes were distant and lost as he considered the locomotive.

He promised himself he wouldn’t let memories of that day intrude. By all accounts, the systematic failures that led to his parents’ early passing was an utter fluke, a once in a lifetime occurrence with a second such fluke standing before him, a young man he thought he would never meet in a thousand lifetimes, who gazed at Percival with worried, imploring eyes. Percival couldn’t shake the infinitesimally small, yet distinct chance of history repeating itself, of another tragedy shaking him to his foundations yet again. For a moment, he thought of cursing his security training at MACUSA, a program bent on exploring every dark possibility of the world surrounding him. He gazed over Credence’s shoulder, embarrassed by his sudden, nigh-paranoid turn in thinking.

Credence stepped down off of the train car and held the older man’s face in both hands, bringing his forehead to his and whispered softly to him. “What do you see, Percival?”

“You, my boy.”

“What do you hear?”

“The rumbling of the engine car. The rising bustle of the morning crowd. A steady heartbeat.”

“Breathe in for ten seconds.” Percival obeyed, raising a hand to grasp Credence’s, which still rested on his cheek. He released it slowly, following the instructions he had given to dozens of shocked witches and witches while out in the field.

“Now answer honestly—don’t worry about me or my feelings. Can you get on the train?”

Percival thought a moment and nodded. “I don’t know what came over me,” he said. “I got onto another train just a few weeks ago with no problem whatsoever…except…”

“Except what?” Credence said. Percival ran his fingers through the young man’s hair.

“You weren’t there. And without you…I suppose I wasn’t so worried. Even if the train derailed, I knew you’d be safe somewhere. It sounds strange once I say it out loud, I’m sorry.”

Credence shook his head. “You don’t need to say sorry.” He stepped up onto the train, hand laced with Percival’s. He took a breath and joined him on the car, breathing a sigh of relief.

“We didn’t go through Grindelwald’s hellfire to be bested by a simple train, did we?” Credence said with an air of confidence that was slowly becoming his own. “Now, let’s find our seats.”

Percival pushed ahead of him, tickets in hand, ready to be brave for Credence.

 

* * * * *

 

The hills were ablaze in colorful autumn and they endeavored to reach the peak’s fiery head. Both wore their “Millenium” model boots as they hiked through the autumn hills. Twigs and leaves crunched beneath their feet as Credence rushed through the brush to find his quarries, which he stored carefully in the jars that Mrs. Albina had loaned to him. Percival playfully reproached Credence for doing what he called “homework,” but couldn’t stop gazing at Credence’s smile as he put his learning to work. He was really growing into a man, standing tall in his handsome felt field jacket, rosy from the brisk air, gauntness vanished from his cheeks.

They swam in the river, splashing and shouting as the brook babbled and their laughter echoed through the wilds surrounding them. There wasn’t another cabin for miles, or even a trail. No, this corner of the mountain was theirs alone, where Percival would partake of Credence’s kisses as the icy water rushed between their bodies. They dried themselves in the sun, Percival lazily stroking Credence’s side as he read his herbology notes. He rattled off a chain of factoids about his samples: their responses to the phases of the moon, the uses of their essential oils, the properties of their fiery petals. Percival had no doubt in his mind that Credence’s knowledge of magical flora and fungi surpassed his own. He laid a series of soft kisses along Credence’s neck as the young man read aloud to him from his notes.

Percival held Credence’s hand as they surmounted the rock and brush, feeling the tips of their ears burn as the evergreens and maple opened into small clearings of grass and shrubs. They both panted and laughed as the steepness nearly bested them and their city lungs, but sighed in triumph as they sat atop the sun-bathed rock at the crest of the mountain. Credence referred to his notes, leading Percival over by the hand to a stolid bit of rocky slate.

“Provided we aren’t too late, some fang moss should still be beneath the rock here.” He beckoned Percival over and both crouched to lift the slab gently. The underside was barren, and Credence couldn’t help but laugh. “I guess it hid already. Spores and all. Oh well,” he shrugged. “The bunches of moss go into hiding inside the rock itself, like a bear going into its cave for hibernation.”

“We will have to try again next year, then,” Percival said.

“Mark your calendar now, then,” Credence said. “We’ll need to scale the mountain much faster next time if we want a chance of catching it.”

“You say that like it’s a beast.”

“It’s not called ‘fang moss’ for nothing,” Credence said cheekily.

They had lunch on the mountain top, then began their trek back down, which proved to be more difficult than the journey upwards. More than once, Credence stumbled and Percival was on him in an instant, grabbing him by the elbow and the collar of his jacket.

The night was spent by the water with a small campfire. It was Percival’s time to share his learning. He pointed out the constellations, recounting memories of nights spent in the quiet spires at Ilvermorny, entrenched in study. “I have to admit, I know them better from charts than personal observation, what with the light pollution and all,” Percival chuckled. Credence clung to him as they lay on the blanket until Percival’s steady baritone lulled him to sleep. Yawning, Percival led him to bed, spending the night in spent slumber.

The next morning, the cabin smelled of earth and campfire cinders. Outside the chorus of birds began their warmups in the trees, peaking into crescendo once the morning sun burst over the peaks of evergreens. Percival was still out cold; he’d been working late all last week, so Credence was happy he wasn’t up with him too. He stretched, finding pleasant ache in his muscle fibers. Not bothering to grab a robe, Credence headed out onto the porch in his underthings.

The air was balmy and cool against his skin. The small lake shimmered. He wondered if Percival knew how to fish. He’d often read about it in his books, the modest prelude to adventures on the white rapids, or encounters with the supernatural. As he followed the reverie, he heard quiet footsteps behind him.

“You’re supposed to be sleeping in,” Credence scolded him.

“Seven-thirty _is_ sleeping in for me,” Percival retorted. Credence felt the brush of stubble against the back of his neck. Something else prodded against his back.

“ _Someone’s_ awake,” Credence said, peaking over his shoulder. Percival was still nude, his hair tossed about by deep sleep. His eyes were sharp though, filled with a hunger which Credence would happily sate. Without another word, Percival approached him, nipping playfully at Credence’s back, turning him around to face him.

Credence was always taken aback by Percival’s form and figure—solid and compact. He sighed as Percival breathed dirty murmurs into his ear. Percival reached down, lazily stroking Credence through his underthings. Credence jutted forward, quickly growing red under Percival’s touch.

“You like my strong hands, don’t you?”

“Y-yes.”

Percival’s fingers grazed the skin beneath his shorts, swiping deeper and deeper. “Getting all bothered now, aren’t we?”

Credence hooked his arms across Percival’s shoulders and pulled him closer, kissing him between whimpering breaths. He felt Percival’s hands grasp his rear, kneading the soft flesh under his fingertips, growling in his throat as Credence whimpered under his touch. His hands crept to Percival’s shoulders and slowly pushed him down to his knees. Percival gladly sank down, kissing each of Credence’s pert nipples and breathing in his sleepy scent.

He wet the front of Credence’s shorts with his tongue, looking up at his boy through his messy locks. Credence bit his knuckle as the warmth enveloped him whole, breath coming in fevered hitches. Percival tugged teasingly at the hem of Credence’s shorts, inching them down at a painfully slow pace.

“Kick them off,” Percival said. Credence discarded his shorts, feeling the sun bear down on his manhood. Percival dipped down to the base of Credence’s bobbing shaft, breathing him in deeply.

“You’re so lovely, my boy,” he said before taking Credence in his mouth. Credence was speechless as he watched the scenario unfold. He grasped Percival’s shoulder, sweeping his hands up into his hair and idly playing with his undercut. Percival knit his brow as he slowly took Credence in and out again. He paused for breath, lips pink with effort.

“C-can we go inside? To the bed?”

Without a beat, Percival hooked his elbow behind Credence’s knees and whisked him up in his arms. He nearly hopped inside and placed Credence on the bed. His eyes ran up and down Credence’s fair skin as he spread himself out on the bed, the most entrancing rosy hues spreading from the young man’s cheeks to his chest.

“Look at you. Swear as long as I live…” Percival murmured as he crawled onto the bed. He covered Credence’s body with his, tucking himself between Credence’s legs as they kissed and embraced. The scratch of stubble left his skin raw and yearning. He flipped Credence onto his front and nibbled at the nape of his neck.

“I want to eat you whole,” Percival growled. He crept backwards and Credence spread his legs open

“Please, Percy. I’m all wound up tight—I want to feel you…” He reached backwards, hand outstretched. Percival took it as he spread Credence’s ass cheeks open. He lightly bit one cheek, then the other, basking in Credence’s familiar scent.

They were completely liberated—no stress of work calls, no chores, no studies, just the two of them enclosed in a cabin in the hills. Percival took his wand from the side table and murmured a quiet spell.  A brisk, cool sensation rushed up his cleft and, as suddenly as it arrived, it disappeared.

“All nice and clean,” Percival said. He set his wand aside and got to work.

Percival worked slowly from the base of Credence’s swollen cock upwards, reveling in the shivers that began in Credence’s throat and edged downwards toward his fingertips, which were still entwined with Percival’s. Percival gently nibbled as he went along, licking broad stripes with his tongue between breaths. “Lick it again, Percy,” Credence whispered.

Percival chuckled and licked a broad stripe up, up toward Credence’s hole. Once he reached it, he stopped, breathing slowly and deeply over it. Even the soft puffs of air were enough to get Credence leaking. With his free hand, Percival stroked Credence’s cock, feeling dabs of slick on his fingertips.

“My precious boy,” Percival said, “I adore you.” He stroked up and down lethargically, watching the muscles in Credence’s back tense and relax. “You’re so good for me, so sweet,” he licked another stripe up through Credence’s cleft, “so tender. I want to give you everything in the world. Tell me, what do you need?”

Credence took his hand away and looked over his shoulders, “I want your tongue, Percival. Give me your tongue. I-I want it inside.”

“As you wish,” Percival chuckled. He gripped both cheeks and spread them wide. He laid a series of wet kisses on his twitching hole. Credence gasped and arched his back. He pulled his knees up to his chest, pushing back onto Percival’s face.

A slick circle enveloped Credence’s hole as Percival flicked his tongue and swollen lips against him. He moaned between bouts, pulling back to gaze at his handiwork. He ran a finger delicately over Credence’s hole, admiring the give. He dipped back down again, renewing his efforts with vigor. Credence’s moans drew out longer and longer, as Percival worked his hole.

As soon as Credence was ready, Percival made a point with his tongue and began his slow incursion. Credence gripped the sheets, repeating Percival’s name again and again.

“More. Can I have more?”

With wet pop, Percival pulled away slowly. Credence languidly shifted on the bed. He lay on his stomach and Percival lowered himself, lining up his cock with Credence’s languid mouth. He took him in eagerly, gripping Percival’s thighs as the older man began to move in and out.

“The things you do to me,” Percival moaned. He ran his hands through Credence’s hair, watching Credence mouth widen as he approached the base. Credence got on his knees near the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around Percival, kissing him deeply and wantonly.

He reached down to stroke Percival more, meeting his eyes. He reclined backwards onto his side. Percival slid up behind him, kissing his jaw, cradling him in his arms.

“You’re so good to me,” Credence said quietly. Percival eased his legs open, prepping Credence. Percival’s body was hot against his, damp with sweat, heart vibrating against his shoulder blade. With no hesitation, Credence took him, whimpering softly as Percival thrust in and pulled out. The older man whispered sweet praises and encouragement as he picked up the pace. Credence was liquid and pliant, utterly lost among his sensations. He brought Percival’s hand around to his chest, grasping it tightly for sweet leverage as the older man moaned.

“Gently, please,” Credence managed.

“Yes, my sweet.”

With that, Credence spilled unexpectedly, craning his neck back. Percival kissed his neck and throat as the pace quickened. “Yes, my boy. Let it all go. I’ve got you,” Percival said, focused on the tight slick of Credence’s hole. The young man moaned, clutching Percival’s hand to his chest. A moan died in Percival’s throat and he pulled out. Credence reached back to stroke him and with to scant pumps, Percival too spilled out onto the sheets. Credence turned back to him, tucking himself into Percival’s capable arms, nearly falling asleep again were it not for the cries of birds and the promise of another sunny day.

Later that night, by the crackling fire put together the old-fashioned way, Credence contemplated the man beside him, idly stroking his thigh as the moon loomed overhead. The forest had a song of its own, much like the crowded streets of New York. Thousands of quiet stories passed unheard all around them, each with its own humble significance. Credence felt small amongst it all, yet he didn’t mind, for a world of smallness with Percival beside him would never lose its warmth nor its gravity.

Percival pecked his cheek as he stood to add another log to the dwindling fire. He looked back at Credence, who smiled beneath the small plaid blanket. The breadth of his grin made Percival’s heart leap. No more did he ponder what could have become of Credence, instead he thanked the stars that lined up to arrange both their chance meeting and unlikely reunion. The two cradled each other until only embers glowed in the fire pit. Credence stood slowly, beckoning Percival with that familiar glint in his eyes, an invitation Percival could never refuse.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After a prolonged stretch, I am pleased to say the epilogue is at last done. For those of you still sticking around, and for those of you new to the story, thank you for your readership and support. This fic has been a pleasure to plan and write, but as they say, life gets in the way of your plans sometimes.
> 
> I was sad I could not include Jacob more in this story, but I couldn't find a good place that wouldn't slow down the already lengthy plot elements. Perhaps a sequel is in order, who knows?


End file.
